Allusion has been made to [Proust's] contempt for the literature that 'describes,' for the realists and naturalists worshipping the offal of e...
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Ah earth you old extinguisher.
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Birth was the death of him.
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'To my thinking' boomed the Professor, begging the question as usual, 'the greatest triumph of the human mind was the calculation of Neptune f...
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Vladimir: That passed the time.
Estragon: It would have passed in any case.
Vladimir: Yes, but not so rapidly.
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To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now.
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The time is perhaps not altogether too green for the vile suggestion that art has nothing to do with clarity, does not dabble in the clear and...
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Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.
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We are not saints, but we have kept our appointment. How many people can boast as much?
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Just under the surface I shall be, all together at first, then separate and drift, through all the earth and perhaps in the end through a cliff into the sea, something of me. A ton of worms in an acre, that is a wonderful thought, a ton of worms, I believe it.
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My characters have nothing. I'm working with impotence, ignorance... that whole zone of being that has always been set aside by artists as something unusable - something by definition incompatible with art.
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I am being given, if I may venture the expression, birth into death, such is my impression. The feet are clear already, of the great cunt of e...
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The confusion is not my invention. We cannot listen to a conversation for five minutes without being aware of the confusion. It is all around us and our only chance now is to let it in. The only chance of renovation is to open our eyes and see the mess. It is not a mess you can make sense of.
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There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the fault of his feet.
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We are all born mad. Some remain so.
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Vladimir That passed the time. Estragon It would have passed in any case. Vladimir Yes, but not so rapidly.
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Probably nothing in the world arouses more false hopes Than the first four hours of a diet.
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The tears of the world are a constant quality. For each one who begins to weep, somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh.
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Make sense who may. I switch off.
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Nothing is funnier than unhappiness, I grant you that. Yes, yes, it's the most comical thing in the world.
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Never but the one matter. The dead and gone. The dying and going. From the word go.
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Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes, it's awful.
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As between these two, the need that in its haste to be abolished cannot pause to be stated and the need that is the absolute predicament of pa...
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Where I am, I don't know, I'll never know, in the silence you don't know, you must go on, I can't go on, I'll go on.
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Let me go to hell, that's all I ask, and go on cursing them there, and them look down and hear me, that might take some of the shine off their bliss.
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The major sin is the sin of being born.
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No painting is more replete than Mondrian's.
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An imaginative adventure does not enjoy the same corsets as reportage.
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Fail, fail again, fail better.
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Where I am, I don't know, I'll never know, in the silence you don't know, you must go on, I can't go on, I'll go on
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