I remember driving home one evening while they were reviewing the papers on the radio. One of the articles was about me separating from my wife. It's a weird thing to listen to a news report about the break-up of your marriage.

What is love? It is the morning and the evening star.

Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.

One thing changes every evening: It's the audience and I'm working my magic. I'm always learning from it.

Joy descends gently upon us like the evening dew and does not patter down like a hailstorm.

I look back into past history the stored experiences or products of the imagination. I look no further forward than the evening.

Before I do a play I say that I hope it's going to be for as short a time as possible but once you do it it is a paradoxical pleasure. One evening out of two there are five minutes of a miracle and for those five minutes you want to do it again and again. It's like a drug.

With the theatre your whole day is geared towards the evening's show and that's the job. People usually go to work about 9 and come home around 5 or maybe 7.

Don't you stay at home of evenings? Don't you love a cushioned seat in a corner by the fireside with your slippers on your feet?

It was one of the most exciting perfect evenings of my life my solo debut at Carnegie Hall. And knowing we were all there to raise money for Gay Men's Health Crisis made the evening an extraordinary experience.