It's A Rare Thing Not To Have

Estragon: I Can't Go On Like This. Vladimir: That's What You Think.

There Is No Use Indicting Words, They Are No Shoddier Than What They Peddle.

But I Was Not Made For The Great Light That Devours, A Dim Lamp Was All I Had Been Given, And Patience Without End, To Shine It On The Empty Shadows.

To Find A Form That Accommodates The Shape Of The Mess, That Is The Task Of The Artist Now.

Silence, Yes, But What Silence! For It Is All Very Fine To Keep Silence, But One Has Also To Consider The Kind Of Silence One Keeps.