Waiting for Godot

by Samuel Beckett

There’s man all over for you, blaming on his boots the faults of his feet.

The more people I meet the happier I become. From the meanest creature one departs wiser, richer, more conscious of one’s blessings. Even you . .

even you, who knows, will have added to my store.

Remark that I might just as well have been in his shoes and he in mine. If chance had not willed otherwise. To each one his due.

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