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

I don't know why I told this story. I could just as well have told another. Perhaps some other time I'll be able to tell another. Living souls, you will see how alike they are.

I, of whom I know nothing, I know my eyes are open, because of the tears that pour from them unceasingly.

Vladimir: I don't understand. Estragon: Use your intelligence, can't you? Vladimir uses his intelligence. Vladimir: (finally) I remain in the dark.

The situation is that of him who is helpless, cannot act, in the event cannot paint, since he is obliged to paint. The act is of him who, helpless, unable to act, acts, in the event paints, since he is obliged to paint.

I could not have gone through the awful wretched mess of life without having left a stain upon the silence.

You cried for night - it falls. Now cry in darkness.