I Use Everything That I Pick Up

To Save The Theatre, The Theatre Must Be Destroyed, And Actors And Actresses All Die Of The Plague ... They Make Art Impossible.

If The Sight Of The Blue Skies Fills You With Joy, If A Blade Of Grass Springing Up In The Fields Has Power To Move You, If The Simple Things Of Nature Have A Message That You Understand, Rejoice, For Your Soul Is Alive.

To Save The Theatre, The Theatre Must Be Destroyed, The Actors And Actresses Must All Die Of The Plague. They Poison The Air, They Make Art Impossible. It Is Not Drama That They Play, But Pieces For The Theatre. We Should Return To The Greeks, Play In The Open Air; The Drama Dies Of Stalls And Boxes And Evening Dress, And People Who Come To Digest Their Dinner.

Precepts, Conventions - Above All Traditions - Have No Value In Art.

First One Works Alone Through The Mind, Then Before The Public Through Experience.