I tried to groan, Help! Help! But the tone that came out was that of polite conversation.

The reality of the individualis an incoherent reality and must be expressed incoherently.

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.

Life is habit. Or rather life is a succession of habits.

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!

An imaginative adventure does not enjoy the same corsets as reportage.

I did not want to write, but I had to resign myself to it in the end.