Closure. I keep hearing that word. ... As soon as a show has a sense of closure, it gives you an excuse to forget you've seen the damn thing.

Mrs. Cavendish: I am charming to my friends one day, and forget all about them the next.

It is remarkable how completely forgotten episodes, when touched with a word, open to the memory — at first vaguely, like the recollection of a dream, but then with increasing clarity and certitude, until at last all is again present, and one wonders how such scenes could have ever been forgotten.

For some reason, this is the big question that a regular person will ask you after a show: "How do you remember [all that]?" I don't know why they ask that. You don't have anything else to remember!

He’s drifting off, and the movie is beginning to blur together with half-formed dreams. Tomorrow, he’ll have trouble remembering which bits of the story were actually part of the movie and which bits he made up in his sleep.

Because, it’s a feel good romantic comedy; the country is hard; everything is tough you know. Just come to the cinema, watch something that would make you laugh, you know giggle. It’s a simple love story and that’s just what it’s supposed to be.

Life is but a memory,
Happened long ago.
Theatre full of sadness
For a long forgotten show.
Seems so easy
Just to let it go on by
Till you stop and wonder
Why you never wondered why.

When You Have Forgotten Sunday: The Love Story — And when you have forgotten the bright bedclothes on a Wednesday and a Saturday,
And most especially when you have forgotten Sunday — When you have forgotten Sunday halves in bed,
Or me sitting on the front-room radiator in the limping afternoon
Looking off down the long street
To nowhere,
Hugged by my plain old wrapper of no-expectation
And nothing-I-have-to-do and I’m-happy-why?
And if-Monday-never-had-to-come — When you have forgotten that, I say,
And how you swore, if somebody beeped the bell,
And how my heart played hopscotch if the telephone rang;
And how we finally went in to Sunday dinner,
That is to say, went across the front room floor to the ink-spotted table in the southwest corner
To Sunday dinner, which was always chicken and noodles
Or chicken and rice
And salad and rye bread and tea
And chocolate chip cookies — I say, when you have forgotten that,
When you have forgotten my little presentiment
That the war would be over before they got to you;
And how we finally undressed and whipped out the light and flowed into bed,
And lay loose-limbed for a moment in the week-end
Bright bedclothes,
Then gently folded into each other — When you have, I say, forgotten all that,
Then you may tell,
Then I may believe
You have forgotten me well.

Comedy too can sometimes discern what is right.

There is no possibility of remembering what has been found and understood, and later repeating it to oneself. It disappears as a dream disappears. Perhaps it is all nothing but a dream.

Doing drama is, in a sense, easier. In doing comedy, if you don't get that laugh, there's something wrong.

You recently had a day, or even a month, that you can’t remember.
If I asked what you did then, you couldn’t say.
There was nothing unusual about it.

The movie has, above all, effortless charm. Once we catch on that nothing much is going to happen, we can relax and share the amusement of the actors, who are essentially being asked to share their playfulness.

After a time, she believed in the reality of this comedy