That passed the time. It would have passed in any case. Yes, but not so rapidly.

It is suicide to be abroad. But what it is to be at home, ... what it is to be at home? A lingering dissolution.

I still smile it's not worth the trouble any more for a long time now it's not been worth the trouble the tongue spring goes into the mud I stay like this not thirsty any more the tongue goes back into the mouth it closes it has to make a straight line now it's done I've made the image.

The blind have no notion of time. The things of time are hidden from them too.

My dear Tom, Delighted to get your letter. Do write again. This life is terrible and I don't understand how it can be endured.

Estragon: I'm like that. Either I forget right away or I never forget.

To every man his little cross. Till he dies. And is forgotten.