Sloth is all passions the most powerful.

That desert of loneliness and recrimination that men call love.

The essential is never to arrive anywhere, never to be anywhere. The essential is to go on squirming forever at the edge of the line, as long as there are waters and banks and ravening in heaven a sporting God to plague his creature, per pro his chosen shits. I've swallowed three hooks and am still hungry. Hence the howls. What a joy to know where one is, and where one will stay, without being there. Nothing to do but strech out comfortably on the rack, in the blissful knowledge you are nobody for eternity.

The reality of the individualis an incoherent reality and must be expressed incoherently.

We lose our hair, our teeth! Our bloom, our ideals.

Silence and darkness were all I craved. Well, I get a certain amount of both. They being one.

What are we doing here, that is the question. And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in the immense confusion one thing alone is clear. We are waiting for Godot to come