I Think I'm Less The

You Will Remember This When All Else Fades, This Moment, Here, Together, By This Well. There Will Be Certain Days, And Certain Nights, You’ll Feel My Presence Near You, Hear My Voice. You’ll Think You Have Imagined It And Yet, Inside You, You Will Catch An Answering Cry. On April Evenings, When The Rain Has Ceased, Your Heart Will Shake, You’ll Weep For Nothing, Pine For What’s Not There. For You, This Life Will Never Be Enough, There Will Forever Be An Emptiness, Where Once The God Was All In All In You.

The Secret Of Survival Is A Defective Imagination.

He Knows That After Him Everything Will Continue On Much As Before, Except That There Will Be A Minuscule Absence, A Barely Detective Gap In The So-called Grand Scheme, One Unit Fewer Now. Or Not Even That, Not Even An Empty Space Where He Once Was, For All Will Rush Immediately To Fill That Vacuum. Pft. Gone. Recollections Of Him Will Remain In The Minds Of Others For A While, But Presently Those Others Too Will Die And His Few Relics With Them. And Then All Will Be Dark.

Throughout The 1960s And 1970s Devoted Beckett Readers Greeted Each Successively Shorter Volume From The Master With A Mixture Of Awe And Apprehensiveness; It Was Like Watching A Great Mathematician Wielding An Infinitesimal Calculus, His Equations Approaching Nearer And Still Nearer To The Null Point.

Life Is Tragic But It's Equally Comic.