In the name of Bacon will you chicken me up that egg. Shall I swallow cave-phantoms? - Samuel Beckett

But he had turned, little by little, a disturbance into words, he had made a pillow of old words, for his head.

No, life ends and no, there is nothing elsewhere, and no question now of ever finding again that white speck lost in whiteness, to see if they still lie still in the stress of that storm, or of a worse storm, or in the black dark for good, or the great whiteness unchanging, and if not what they are doing.

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