All mankind is us, whether we like it or not.

I knew it would soon be the end, so I played the part, you know, the part of — how shall I say, I don’t know.

Then I went back into the house and wrote, It is midnight. The rain is beating on the windows. It was not midnight. It was not raining.

Where you have nothing, there you should want nothing.

My notes have a curious tendency, as I realize at last, to annihilate all they purport to record.

My keepers, why keepers, I'm in no danger of stirring an inch, ah I see, it's to make me think I'm a prisoner, frantic with corporeality, rearing to get out and away.

Estragon: Nothing to be done.