Was I asleep? Had I slept?

Astride of a grave and a difficult birth.Down in the hole, lingeringly, the grave digger puts on the forceps.We have time to grow old.The air is full of our cries.But habit is a great deadener.At me too someone is looking, of me too someone is saying, He is sleeping, he knows nothing.Let him sleep on.

The forms are many in which the unchanging seeks relief from its formlessness.

Don’t wait to be hunted to hide, that was always my motto.

Lucky's monologue: "(...)the strides of physical culture the practice of sports such as tennis football running cycling swimming flying floating riding gliding conating camogie skating tennis of all kinds dying flying sports of all sorts autumn summer winter winter tennis of all kinds hockey of all sorts peniciline and succedanea in a word(...)

E: Well, shall we go?V: Yes, let's go.(They do not move)

Estragon: And if he doesn't come?Vladimir: (after a moment of bewilderment) We'll see when the time comes.

VLADIMIR: Dance, hog!