Dying for dark - the darker the worse. Strange.
Yes, there were times when I forgot not only who I was but that I was, forgot to be.
The tears stream down my cheeks from my unblinking eyes. What makes me weep so? There is nothing saddening here. Perhaps it is liquefied brain.
Does it really matter which hand is employed to absterge the podex?
I was out of sorts. They are deep, my sorts, a deep ditch, and I am not often out of them.
The little cloud drifting before their glorious sun will darken the earth as long as I please.
It was long since I had longed for anything and the effect on me was horrible.
Of all the laughs that strictly speaking are not laughs, but modes of ululation, only three I think need detain us, I mean the bitter, the hollow and the mirthless. They correspond to successive… how...
You can't have everything, I've often noticed it.
On a le temps de viellir. L'air est plein de nos cris. Mais l'habitude est une grande sourdine.
In order to be company he must display a certain mental activity. But it need not be of a high order. Indeed it might be argued the lower the better. Up to a point. The lower the order of mental activ...
Was I sleeping, while the others suffered? Am I sleeping now? Tomorrow, when I wake, or think I do, what shall I say of today? That with Estragon my friend, at this place, until the fall of night, I w...
So to every man, soon or late, comes envy of the fly, with all the long joys of summer before it.
No symbols where none intended.
Estragon: You see, you feel worse when I'm with you. I feel better alone, too.Vladmir: Then why do you always come crawling back?Estragon: I don't know.
Morning is the time to hide. They wake up, hale and hearty, their tongues hanging out for order, beauty and justice, baying for their due. Yes, from eight or nine till noon is the dangerous time. But...
Do you believe in the life to come? Mine was always that.
Dear incomprehension, it's thanks to you I'll be myself, in the end.
One is no longer oneself, on such occasions, and it is painful to be no longer oneself, even more painful if possible than when one is. For when one is one knows what to do to be less so, whereas when...
Bloom of adulthood. Try a whiff of that. On your back in the dark you remember. Ah you remember. Cloudless May day. She joins you in the little summerhouse. Entirely of logs. Both larch and fir. Six f...
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