The Whisky Bears A Grudge

No Painting Is More Replete Than Mondrian's.

To Him Who Has Nothing It Is Forbidden Not To Relish Filth.

We Lose Our Hair, Our Teeth! Our Bloom, Our Ideals.

The Sky Sinks In The Morning, This Fact Has Been Insufficiently Observed.

Hamm: We're Not Beginning To... To... Mean Something? Clov: Mean Something! You And I, Mean Something! (brief Laugh.) Ah That's A Good One!