I always thought old age would be a writer’s best chance. Whenever I read the late work of Goethe or W. B. Yeats I had the impertinence to identify with it. Now, my memory’s gone, all the old fluency’s disappeared. I don’t write a single sentence without saying to myself, ‘It’s a lie!’ So I know I was right. It’s the best chance I’ve ever had.
The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh.
No, I regret nothing, all I regret is having been born, dying is such a long tiresome business I always found.
Vladimir: That passed the time.Estragon: It would have passed in any case.Vladimir: Yes, but not so rapidly.
In the name of Bacon will you chicken me up that egg.Shall I swallow cave-phantoms?
They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it’s night once more.
They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it’s night once more.
Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.
It is suicide to be abroad. But what it is to be at home, … what it is to be at home? A lingering dissolution.
It was long since I had longed for anything and the effect on me was horrible.
POZZO: I woke up one fine day as blind as Fortune. Sometimes I wonder if I’m not still asleep.VLADIMIR: And when was that?POZZO: I don’t know.VLADIMIR: But no later than yesterday—POZZO: Don’t question me! The blind have no notion of time . The things of time are hidden from them too.VLADIMIR: Well just fancy that! I could have sworn it was just the opposite.
One day we were born, one day we shall die, the same day, the same second.