Birth was the death of him.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm in my right mind. Then it passes off and I'm as intelligent as ever.

Nothing matters but the writing. There has been nothing else worthwhile... a stain upon the silence.

Personally I have no bone to pick with graveyards, I take the air there willingly, perhaps more willingly than elsewhere, when take the air I must.

It's a rare thing not to have been bonny-- once.

Estragon: Suppose we repented. Vladimir: Repented what? Estragon: Oh...(He reflects.) We wouldn’t have to go into the details. Vladimir: Our being born?

Where am I, I don't know, I'll never know, in the silence, in the silence you don't know, you must go on, I can't go on, I'll go on.