Waiting for Godot

by Samuel Beckett

what do we do now that we’re happy

We always find something, eh Didi, to give us the impression we exist?

Let us do something, while we have the chance! It is not every day that we are needed. Not indeed that we personally are needed. Others would meet the case equally well, if not better. To all mankind they were addressed, those cries for help still ringing in our ears! But at this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is us, whether we like it or not. Let us make the most of it, before it is too late! Let us represent worthily for once the foul brood to which a cruel fate consigned us! What do you say?

What are we doing here, that is the question. And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in this immense confusion one thing alone is clear. We are waiting for Godot to come—

Or for night to fall.

The real answer as to what they are doing there

We are not saints, but we have kept our appointment. How many people can boast as much?

(aphoristic for once). We are all born mad. Some remain so.

ESTRAGON: You think it’s enough? VLADIMIR: No, I mean so far as to assert that I was weak in the head when I came into the world. But that is not the question.

No, don’t protest, we are bored to death, there’s no denying it. Good. A diversion comes along and what do we do? We let it go to waste.

In an instant all will vanish and we’ll be alone once more, in the midst of nothingness!

Was I sleeping, while the others suffered? Am I sleeping now? To-morrow, when I wake, or think I do, what shall I say of to-day? 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?