Let's go." "We can't." "Why not?" "We're waiting for Godot.
Estragon: I'm like that. Either I forget right away or I never forget.
All I say cancels out, I’ll have said nothing.
I am such a good man, at bottom, such a good man, how is it that nobody ever noticed it?
I gave up before birth.
How hideous is the semicolon.
The fact would seem to be, if in my situation one may speak of facts, not only that I shall have to speak of things of which I cannot speak, but also, which is even more interesting, but also that I, which is if possible even more interesting, that I shall have to, I forget, no matter. And at the same time I am obliged to speak. I shall never be silent. Never.
Ah, the old questions, the old answers, there's nothing like them!
The only sin is the sin of being born.
Light black. From pole to pole.
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 in a straight line.
Not to want to say, not to know what you want to say, not to be able to say what you think you want to say, and never to stop saying, or hardly ever, that is the thing to keep in mind, even in the heat of composition.
If by Godot I had meant God I would have said God, and not Godot.
But it seems impossible to speak and yet say nothing, you think you have succeeded, but you always overlook something.
Imagination at wit's end spreads its sad wings.
There's no lack of void.
And truly it little matters what I say, this or that or any other thing. Saying is inventing. Wrong, very rightly wrong. You invent nothing, you think you are inventing, you think you are escaping, and all you do is stammer out your lesson, the remnants of a pensum one day got by heart and long forgotten, life without tears, as it is wept.
I cannot explain my plays. Each must find out for himself what is meant
Poetry is essentially the antithesis of Metaphysics: Metaphysics purge the mind of the senses and cultivate the disembodiment of the spiritual; Poetry is all passionate and feeling and animates the inanimate; Metaphysics are most perfect when concerned with universals; Poetry, when most concerned with particulars.
But he had hardly felt the absurdity of those things, on the one hand, and the necessity of those others, on the other, (for it is rare that the feeling of absurdity is not followed by the feeling of necessity), when he felt the absurdity of those things of which he had just felt the necessity (for it is rare that the feeling of necessity is not followed by the feeling of absurdity.)
Art has always been this--pure interrogation, rhetorical question less the rhetoric--whatever else it may have been obliged by social reality to appear.
Tears and laughter, they are so much Gaelic to me.
What goes by the name of love is banishment, with now and then a postcard from the homeland, such is my considered opinion, this evening.
It's a lot to ask of one creature, it's a lot to ask, that he should first behave as if he were not, then as if he were, before being admitted to that peace where he neither is, nor is not, and where the language dies that permits of such expressions.
Success and failure on the public level never mattered much to me, in fact I feel more at home with the latter, having breathed deep of its vivifying air all my writing life up to the last couple of years.
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