Vladimir: Did I ever leave you? Estragon: You let me go.

Absolute virtue is as sure to kill a man as absolute vice is, let alone the dullness of it and the pomposities of it.

Estragon: Nothing to be done.

It was the only way to progress, to stop.

I marshalled the words and opened my mouth, thinking I would hear them. But all I heard was a kind of rattle, unintelligible even to me who knew what was intended.

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

I speak for an art ... weary of its puny exploits, weary of pretending to be able, of being able, of doing a little better the same old thing, of going a little further along a dreary road.