The Essential Doesn't Change.

In The Landscape Of Extinction, Precision Is Next To Godliness.

They Give Birth Astride Of A Grave, The Light Gleams An Instant, Then It's Night Once More.

For The Only Way One Can Speak Of Nothing Is To Speak Of It As Though It Were Something, Just As The Only Way One Can Speak Of God Is To Speak Of Him As Though He Were A Man, Which To Be Sure He Was, In A Sense, For A Time, And As The Only Way One Can Speak Of Man, Even Our Anthropologists Have Realized That, Is To Speak Of Him As Though He Were A Termite.

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

Then I Went Back Into The House And Wrote, It Is Midnight. The Rain Is Beating On The Windows. It Was Not Midnight. It Was Not Raining.