Samuel Beckett

Hope deferred maketh the something sick, who said that

There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the faults of his feet

Inspiring prospects. ( He turns to Vladimir.) Let's go

bursting with miscellaneous rubbish

enough for you? ( Silence.) It's not nice of you, Didi. Who am I to tell my private nightmares to if I can't tell them to you

Let them remain private. You know I can't bear that

ESTRAGON:
That would be too bad, really too bad. ( Pause.) Wouldn't it, Didi, be really too bad? ( Pause.) When you think of the beauty of the way. ( Pause.) And the goodness of the wayfarers

Calm . . . calm . . . The English say cawm

With all that follows. Where it falls mandrakes grow. That's why they shriek when you pull them up. Did you not know that?

Let's hang ourselves immediately