Estragon: What about hanging ourselves? Vladimir: Hmm. It'd give us an erection.
What kind of country is this where a woman can't weep her heart out on the highways and byways without being tormented by retired bill-brokers!
Against the charitable gesture there is no defence.
The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new.
It was the only way to progress, to stop.
James Joyce was a synthesizer, trying to bring in as much as he could. I am an analyzer, trying to leave out as much as I can.