Vladimir: Did I ever leave you? Estragon: You let me go.
Watt had watched people smile and thought he understood how it was done.
That desert of loneliness and recrimination that men call love.
Art has always been this--pure interrogation, rhetorical question less the rhetoric--whatever else it may have been obliged by social reality to appear.
The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new.
Adulterers, take warning, never admit.