The tears of the world are a constant quality. For each one who begins to weep, somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh.

Share with your friends

More from Waiting for Godot

What are we doing here, that is the question.

Nothing 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.