And truly it little matters what I say, this or that or any other thing. Saying is inventing. Wrong, very rightly wrong. You invent nothing, you think you are inventing, you think you are escaping, and all you do is stammer out your lesson, the remnants of a pensum one day got by heart and long forgotten, life without tears, as it is wept.

How can one better magnify the Almighty than by sniggering with him at his little jokes, particularly the poorer ones?

Poets are the sense, philosophers­­ the intelligence­­ of humanity.

I know those little phrases that seem so innocuous, and, once you let them in, pollute the whole of speech. 'Nothing is more real than nothing.' They rise up out of the pit and know no rest until they drag you down into its dark.

Estragon: What about hanging ourselves? Vladimir: Hmm. It'd give us an erection.

I had little talent for happiness.

I write about myself with the same pencil and in the same exercise book as about him. It is no longer I, but another whose life is just beginning.