To think, when one is no longer young, when one is not yet old, that one is no longer young, that one is not yet old, that is perhaps something.

Any fool can turn a blind eye but who knows what the ostrich sees in the sand.

We are not saints, but we have kept our appointment. How many people can boast as much?

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

HAMM: We're not beginning to... to... mean something? CLOV: Mean something! You and I, mean something! (Brief laugh.) Ah that's a good one!

To what will love not stoop!

I have always been amazed at my contemporaries’ lack of finesse, I whose soul writhed from morning to night, in the mere quest of itself.