what would I do without this world faceless incuriouswhere to be lasts but an instant where every instantspills in the void the ignorance of having beenwhat would I do what I did yesterday and the day beforepeering out of my deadlight looking for anotherwandering like me eddying far from all the living in a convulsive spaceamong the voices voicelessthat throng my hiddenness
-Samuel Beckett
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