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

Tears and laughter, they are so much Gaelic to me.

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

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.

You are not satisfied unless form is so strictly divorced from content that you can comprehend the one without almost without bothering to read the other.

The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new.

For the only way one can speak of nothing is to speak of it as though it were something, just as the only way one can speak of God is to speak of him as though he were a man, which to be sure he was, in a sense, for a time, and as the only way one can speak of man, even our anthropologists have realized that, is to speak of him as though he were a termite.