I Have My Faults, But

We Could Have Saved Sixpence. We Could Have Saved Fivepence. But At What Cost?

My Notes Have A Curious Tendency, As I Realize At Last, To Annihilate All They Purport To Record.

Estragon: Nothing To Be Done.

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

No, I Regret Nothing, All I Regret Is Having Been Born, Dying Is Such A Long Tiresome Business I Always Found.