My mistakes are my life.
We should have thought of it when the world was young, in the nineties.
Imagination at wit's end spreads its sad wings.
Vladimir: Did I ever leave you? Estragon: You let me go.
I donโt like animals. Itโs a strange thing, I donโt like men and I donโt like animals. As for God, he is beginning to disgust me.
We always find something, eh Didi, to let us think we exist?