Don’t touch me! Don’t question me! Don’t speak to me! Stay with me!
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More from Waiting for Godot
What are we doing here, that is the question.
viewNothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes, it’s awful.
We all are born mad. Some remain so.
There’s man all over for you, blaming on his boots the faults of his feet.
They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it’s night once more.