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.

That's what hell must be like, small chat to the babbling of Lethe about the good old days when we wished we were dead.

Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.' You won't believe what you can accomplish by attempting the impossible with the courage to repeatedly fail better.

Suffering is the main condition of the artistic experience.

Words are the clothes thoughts wear.

Until the day when, your endurance gone, in this world for you without arms, you catch up in yours the first mangy cur you meet, carry it for the time needed for it to love it and you it, then throw it away.

Estragon: I'm like that. Either I forget right away or I never forget.