Estragon: Nothing to be done.

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.

What do I know of man's destiny? I could tell you more about radishes.

Unfathomable mind, now beacon, now sea.

There are two moments worthwhile in writing, the one when you start and the other when you throw it in the waste-paper basket.

What is this love that more than all the cursed deadly or any other of its great movers so moves the soul and soul what is this soul that more than by any of its great movers is by love so moved?

For to know nothing is nothing, not to want to know anything likewise, but to be beyond knowing anything, to know you are beyond knowing anything, that is when peace enters in, to the soul of the incurious seeker.