Reece

“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 Estragon my friend, at this place, until the fall of night, I waited for Godot? That Pozzo passed, with his carrier, and that he spoke to us? Probably. But in all that what truth will there be? [Estragon, having struggled with his boots in vain, is dozing off again. Vladimir looks at him.] He'll know nothing. He'll tell me about the blows he received and I'll give him a carrot. [Pause.] Astride of a grave and a difficult birth. Down in the hole, lingeringly, the gravedigger puts on the forceps. We have time to grow old. The air is full of our cries. [He listens.] But habit is a great deadener. [He looks again at Estragon.] At me too someone is looking, of me too someone is saying. He is sleeping, he knows nothing, let him sleep on. [Pause.] I can't go on! [Pause.] What have I said?”
― Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot

“I'm always seeking something, it's tiring in the end - and it's only the beginning,”
― Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable

“In contrast, historical time is a concrete and living reality with an irreversible onward rush. It is the very plasma in which events are immersed, and the field within which they become intelligible.”
― Marc Bloch, The Historian's Craft: Reflections on the Nature and Uses of History and the Techniques and Methods of Those Who Write It.

“I bump against the railings and begin to go down the stairs cursing them: one foot in the void/ another foot into the abyss/ another one into nowhere. When'll they turn on the lights in this fucking house?”
― Guillermo Cabrera Infante, Three Trapped Tigers