My biggest flop was a play I wrote... It was the best thing I ever wrote, so it was a particularly heartbreaking experience. If I think about it for more than a minute, I start to cry. Some plays flop but go on to have a life in stock and amateur productions, but not this one. No one performs it anywhere, ever. You'd think I would have given up hoping that anything good would ever happen to this play, but I haven't: I sometimes fantasise that when I'm dying, someone who's in a position to revive it will come to my bedside to say goodbye, and I will say: "Could I ask a favour?" He will say yes. What else can he say? After all, I'm dying. And I will say: "Could you please do a revival of my play?"