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If you do not love me I shall not be loved If I do not love you I shall not love.
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Unfathomable mind, now beacon, now sea.
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Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.
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To restore silence is the role of objects.
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Krapp: Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn't want them back. Not with the fire in me now.
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To him who has nothing it is forbidden not to relish filth.
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We are not saints, but we have kept our appointment. How many people can boast as much?
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They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more.
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Let me go to hell, that's all I ask, and go on cursing them there, and them look down and hear me, that might take some of the shine off their bliss.
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The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new.
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Nothing is funnier than unhappiness, I grant you that. Yes, yes, it's the most comical thing in the world.
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James Joyce was a synthesizer, trying to bring in as much as he could. I am an analyzer, trying to leave out as much as I can.
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Where I am, I don't know, I'll never know, in the silence you don't know, you must go on, I can't go on, I'll go on.
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Birth was the death of him.
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You're on earth. There's no cure for that.
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The expression that there is nothing to express, nothing with which to express, nothing from which to express, no power to express, no desire to express, together with the obligation to express.
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Clov: When I fall I'll weep for happiness.
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To contrive a little kingdom, in the midst of the universal muck, then shit on it, ah that was me all over.
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No, I regret nothing, all I regret is having been born, dying is such a long tiresome business I always found.
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If I had the use of my body, I would throw it out the window.
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Dublin university contains the cream of Ireland: Rich and thick.
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Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness.
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All I know is what the words know, and dead things, and that makes a handsome little sum, with a beginning and a middle and an end, as in the well-built phrase and the long sonata of the dead.
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The tears stream down my cheeks from my unblinking eyes. What makes me weep so? From time to time. There is nothing saddening here. Perhaps it is liquefied brain.