I have nothing but wastes and wilds of self-translation before me for many miserable months to come.

The old endless chain of love, tolerance, indifference, aversion and disgust

The human eyelid is not teartight (happily for the human eye).

All the things you would do gladly, oh without enthusiasm, but gladly, all the things there seems no reason for your not doing, and that you do not do! Can it be we are not free? It might be worth looking into.

The time is perhaps not altogether too green for the vile suggestion that art has nothing to do with clarity, does not dabble in the clear and does not make clear, and more than the light of day (or night) makes the subsolar, -lunar, and -stellar excrement. Art is the sun, moon, and stars of the mind, the whole mind.

POZZO: I am blind. (Silence.) ESTRAGON: Perhaps he can see into the future.

It's a rare thing not to have been bonny-- once.