A Favorite Monologue
Was I sleeping, while the others suffered? Am I sleeping now? Tomorrow, when I wake, or think I do, what shall I say of today? That with my friend Estragon, at this place, until the fall of night, I waited for Godot? That Pozzo passed, with his carrier, and he spoke to us? Probably. But in all that what truth will there be? He'll know nothing. He'll tell me of the blows he recieved and I'll give him a carrot. Asdride a grave and a difficult birth. Down in the hole, lingeringly, the gravedigger puts on the forcepts. We have time to grow old. The air is full of our cries. But habit is a great deadener. At me too someone is look, of me too someone is saying, He is sleeping. He knows nothing. Let him sleep on. I can't go on. What have I said?