But she's a nut$$$ and nuts win.

At moments I dislike having a face$$$ a nose$$$ lips$$$ because he has them.

Art -- the fresh feeling$$$ new harmony$$$ the transforming magic which by means of myth brings back the scattered distracted soul from its modern chaos -- art$$$ not politics$$$ is the remedy.

Some people$$$ if they didn't make it hard for themselves$$$ might fall asleep.

The blood jet is poetry<br>There is no stopping it.

The tears stream down my cheeks from my unblinking eyes. What makes me weep so? There is nothing saddening here. Perhaps it is liquefied brain.

Vladimir: I don't understand.<br>Estragon: Use your intelligence$$$ can't you?<br>Vladimir uses his intelligence. Vladimir: (finally) I remain in the dark.

ESTRAGON: Don't touch me! Don't question me! Don't speak to me! Stay with me!<br>VLADIMIR: Did I ever leave you?<br>ESTRAGON: You let me go.

Let's go. "We can't." "Why not?" "We're waiting for Godot."

A shadow of a reflection of an image of an illusion.