The Whisky Bears A Grudge Against The

Pozzo: I Am Blind. (silence.) Estragon: Perhaps He Can See Into The Future.

Imagination At Wit's End Spreads Its Sad Wings.

I Am Such A Good Man, At Bottom, Such A Good Man, How Is It That Nobody Ever Noticed It?

How Hideous Is The Semicolon.

Not To Want To Say, Not To Know What You Want To Say, Not To Be Able To Say What You Think You Want To Say, And Never To Stop Saying, Or Hardly Ever, That Is The Thing To Keep In Mind, Even In The Heat Of Composition.