But in the end I understood this language. I understood it, I understand it, all wrong perhaps. That is not what matters. It told me to write the rep… - Samuel Beckett

Then I went back into the house and wrote, It is midnight. The rain is beating on the windows. It was not midnight. It was not raining.

"It is midnight. Rain is beating against the window." It was not midnight. It was not raining.

VLADIMIR: What do they say?
ESTRAGON: They talk about their lives.
VLADIMIR: To have lived is not enough for them.
ESTRAGON: They have to talk about it.

Words and images run riot in my head, pursuing, flying, clashing, merging, endlessly. But beyond this tumult there is a great calm, and a great indifference, never really to be troubled by anything again.

That's how it is on this bitch of an earth.