Estragon: What about hanging ourselves? Vladimir: Hmm. It’d give us an erection.
No, I regret nothing, all I regret is having been born, dying is such a long tiresome business I always found.
They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it’s night once more.
I cannot explain my plays. Each must find out for himself what is meant.
I don’t like animals. It’s a strange thing, I don’t like men and I don’t like animals. As for God, he is beginning to disgust me.
How do you manage it, she said, at your age? I told her I’d been saving up for her all my life.
It’s a rare thing not to have been bonny – once.
ESTRAGON: I can’t go on like this. VLADIMIR: That’s what you think.
Vladimir: Did I ever leave you? Estragon: You let me go.
I open the door of the cell and go. I am so bowed I only see my feet, if I open my eyes, and between my legs a little trail of black dust. I say to myself that the earth is extinguished, though I never saw it lit.
There is this to be said for Dachsunds of such length and lowness as Nelly, that it makes very little difference to their appearance whether they stand, sit or lie.
Estragon: Nothing to be done.
All I know is what the words know, and dead things, and that makes a handsome little sum, with a beginning and a middle and an end, as in the well-built phrase and the long sonata of the dead.
We are not saints, but we have kept our appointment. How many people can boast as much?
I write about myself with the same pencil and in the same exercise book as about him. It is no longer I, but another whose life is just beginning.
Hold the old holding hand. Hold and be held. Plod on and never recede. Slowly with never a pause plod on and never recede.
If I had the use of my body, I would throw it out the window.
Habit is a great deadener.
Don’t wait to be hunted to hide, that was always my motto.
Decidedly it will never have been given to me to finish anything, except perhaps breathing. One must not be greedy.