All I want to do is sit on my ass and fart and think of Dante.

I shall state silences more competently than ever a better man spangled the butterflies of vertigo.

There is at least this to be said for mind, that it can dispel mind.

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!

My characters have nothing. I'm working with impotence, ignorance... that whole zone of being that has always been set aside by artists as something unusable - something by definition incompatible with art.

The end of a life is always vivifying.

Vladimir: I don't understand. Estragon: Use your intelligence, can't you? Vladimir uses his intelligence. Vladimir: (finally) I remain in the dark.