And it was this location that provides my second memory. (It must come after the first because in it I am now standing up.) I was bitten by a rabbit.… - John Cleese

And it was this location that provides my second memory. (It must come after the first because in it I am now standing up.) I was bitten by a rabbit. Or rather, I was nibbled by a rabbit, but, because I was such a weedy, namby-pamby little pansy, I reacted as though I’d lost a limb.

Yes, I know it’s easy to make fun of the organised churches, but has it occurred to anyone to wonder why it’s so easy? What gets my goat is that “Religion” should be the most exciting topic of all. Is there an afterlife? Can we have a real purpose to our lives? How can we love our enemy, when it seems about as easy as levitating?

There's always been limitations on what they're allowed to say. Why you go to Molière and Louis XIV. I mean Molière had to be a bit careful. And there will always be limitations. I mean in England, until some ridiculous late date like 1965, all plays had to be submitted to what used to be a part of the palace called the Lord Chamberlain, and he would read it and there were hilarious letters used to go back was saying 'you may only say f--- once,' this sort of- ‘and you cannot say bugger. But you can say-' this sort of ridiculous negotiating letters.

(I’d arrived after the matinee and still remember an autograph hunter at the stagedoor asking me, ‘Are you anybody?’ I was tempted to answer him ontologically, but instead told him a white lie, and denied my own existence.)