Estragon: Nothing To Be Done.

Art Has Nothing To Do With Clarity, Does Not Dabble In The Clear And Does Not Make Clear

You Cried For Night - It Falls. Now Cry In Darkness.

Estragon: Suppose We Repented. Vladimir: Repented What? Estragon: Oh...(he Reflects.) We Wouldn’t Have To Go Into The Details. Vladimir: Our Being Born?

There Are Two Moments Worthwhile In Writing, The One When You Start And The Other When You Throw It In The Waste-paper Basket.

Nothing Is More Real Than Nothing.