POZZO:I am blind.(Silence.)ESTRAGON:Perhaps he can see into the future.

Yes, in my life, since we must call it so, there were three things, the inability to speak, the inability to be silent, and solitude, that’s what I’ve had to make the best of.

She was willing a little bit of sweated labour, incapable of betraying the slogan of her slavers, that since the customer or sucker was paying for his gutrot ten times what it cost to produce...

But even them, my pains, I understand ill. That must come from my not being all pain and nothing else. There’s the rub. Then they recede, or I, till they fill me with amaze and...

(Looking at the tree) Pity we haven’t got a bit of rope.

Try again. Fail again. Fail better.

There is no use indicting words, they are no shoddier than what they peddle.

My master then, assuming he is solitary, in my image, wishes me well, poor devil, wishes my good, and if he does not seem to do very much in order not to be disappointed it...

And yet sometimes it seems to me I am there, among the incriminated scenes, tottering under the attributes peculiar to the lords of creation … Yes, more than once I almost took myself for the...

I lay down across her with my face in her breasts and my hand on her. We lay there without moving. But under us all moved, and moved us, gently, up and down, and from...

When a man in a forest thinks he is going forward in a straight line, in reality he is going in a circle, I did my best to go in a circle, hoping to go...

What is certain is this, that I never rested in that way again, my feet obscenely resting on the earth, my arms on the handlebars and on my arms my head, rocking and abandoned. It...

Bloom of adulthood. Try a whiff of that. On your back in the dark you remember. Ah you remember. Cloudless May day. She joins you in the little summerhouse. Entirely of logs. Both larch and...

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,...

Unfathomable mind: now beacon, now sea.

Je suis comme ça. Ou j’oublie tout de suite ou je n’oublie jamais.”Samuel BECKETT, En attendant GodotI’m like that. Either I forget right away or I never forget.

Spend the years of learning squanderingCourage for the years of wanderingThrough a world politely turningFrom the loutishness of learning.

In reality I said nothing at all, but I heard a murmur, something gone wrong with the silence, and I pricked up my ears, like an animal I imagine, which gives a start and pretends...

Poets are the sense, philosophers­­ the intelligence­­ of humanity.

Vladimir, be reasonable, you haven’t yet tried everything. And I resumed the struggle.

I do nothing, with as little shame as satisfaction. It is the state that suits me best. I write the odd poem when it is there, that is the only thing worth doing. There is...

Words are the clothes thoughts wear.

The tears stream down my cheeks from my unblinking eyes. What makes me weep so? There is nothing saddening here. Perhaps it is liquefied brain.

que ferais-je sans ce monde que ferais-je sans ce monde sans visage sans questionsoù être ne dure qu’un instant où chaque instantverse dans le vide dans l’oubli d’avoir étésans cette onde où à la fincorps...

Let us do something, while we have the chance! It is not every day that we are needed. Not indeed that we personally are needed. Others would meet the case equally well, if not better....

But we know that we are no longer the same, and not only know that we are no longer the same, but know in what we are no longer the same, you wiser but not...

CLOV:Do you believe in the life to come?HAMM:Mine was always that.

Was I asleep? Had I slept?

The earth makes a sound as of sighs and the last drops fall from the emptied cloudless sky. A small boy, stretching out his hands and looking up at the blue sky, asked his mother...

It is suicide to be abroad. But what it is to be at home, … what it is to be at home? A lingering dissolution.

To every man his little cross. Till he dies. And is forgotten.

A cheval sur une tombe et une naissance difficile. Du fond du trou, rêveusement, le fossoyeur applique ses fers. On a le temps de vieillir. L’air est plein de nos cris.

ESTRAGON: Don’t touch me! Don’t question me! Don’t speak to me! Stay with me!VLADIMIR: Did I ever leave you?ESTRAGON: You let me go.

The new light above my table is a great improvement. With all this darkness around me I feel less alone. (Pause.) In a way. (Pause.) I love to get up and move about in it,...

HAMM:Scoundrel! Why did you engender me?NAGG:I didn’t know.HAMM:What? What didn’t you know?NAGG:That it’d be you.(Pause.)

Ada: And why life? (Pause.) Why life, Henry? (Pause.) Is there anyone about?Henry: Not a living soul.Ada: I thought as much. (Pause.) When we longed to have it to ourselves there was always someone. Now...

Estragon: They’re too bigVladimir: Perhaps you’ll have socks some day

In the name of Bacon will you chicken me up that egg.Shall I swallow cave-phantoms?

How do you manage it, she said, at your age? I told her I’d been saving up for her all my life.

Personally of course I regret everything.Not a word, not a deed, not a thought, not a need,not a grief, not a joy, not a girl, not a boy,not a doubt, not a trust, not a...