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

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

But he had hardly felt the absurdity of those things, on the one hand, and the necessity of those others, on the other, (for it is rare that the feeling of absurdity is not followed by the feeling of necessity), when he felt the absurdity of those things of which he had just felt the necessity (for it is rare that the feeling of necessity is not followed by the feeling of absurdity.)

We lose our hair, our teeth! Our bloom, our ideals.

What kind of country is this where a woman can't weep her heart out on the highways and byways without being tormented by retired bill-brokers!

Hold the old holding hand. Hold and be held. Plod on and never recede. Slowly with never a pause plod on and never recede.

Nothing is more real than nothing.