He imagines that when I see him indefatigable I'll regret my decision. Such is his miserable scheme. As though I were short of slaves!
Extraordinary how mathematics help you to know yourself.
ESTRAGON: In the meantime let us try and converse calmly, since we are incapable of keeping silent.VLADIMIR: You're right, we're inexhaustible.ESTRAGON: It's so we won't think.VLADIMIR: We have that e...
All hangs together, I am in chains.
A bright light is not necessary, a taper is all one needs to live in strangeness, if it faithfully burns.
: Sometimes I am wrong. () But not often. () Sometimes all is over, for the day, all done, all said, all ready for the night, and the day not over, far from over, the night not ready, far, far from re...
ولادیمیر: ... ولی ما سر قرارمون موندیم، و این دیگه آخرشه. ما قدیس نیستیم، ولی سر قرارمون ایستادیم. چند نفر می تونند این قدر به خودشون ببالند؟استراگون: میلیون ها نفر.
نولد جميعا مجانين. ويظل البعض كذلك
لكن فكر فكر ، انت على الأرض ولاعلاج لذلك
Story … if you could finish it … you could rest … you could sleep … not before … oh I know … the ones I’ve finished … thousands and one … all I ever did … in my life … with my life … saying to myself...
Dead calm, then a murmur, a name, a murmured name, in doubt, in fear, in love, in fear, in doubt, wind of winter in the black boughs, cold calm sea whitening whispering to the shore, stealing, hasteni...
Yes it sometimes happens and will sometimes happen again that I forget who I am and strut before my eyes, like a stranger. Then I see the sky different from what it is and the earth too takes on false...
With his two hands he props up his jaw. He passes without a word. Perhaps he does not see me. One of these days I'll challenge him. I'll say, I don't know, I'll say something, I'll think of something...
We spend our life, it's ours, trying to bring together in the same instant a ray of sunshine and a free bench...
VLADIMIR: Well? What do we do?ESTRAGON: Don't let's do anything. It's safer.
Use your head, can't you, use your head, you're on earth, there's no cure for that!
To every man his little cross. (He sighs.) Till he dies. (Afterthought.) And is forgotten.
There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the faults of his feet.
The sweet creature! She would look it up in her big Dante when she got home. What a woman!
The dead die hard, trespassers on the beyond, they must take the place as they find it, the shafts and manholes back into the muck, till such time as the lord of the manor incurs through his long acqu...