Hope deferred maketh the something sick, who said that
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There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the faults of his feet
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Inspiring prospects. ( He turns to Vladimir.) Let's go
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bursting with miscellaneous rubbish
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enough for you? ( Silence.) It's not nice of you, Didi. Who am I to tell my private nightmares to if I can't tell them to you
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Let them remain private. You know I can't bear that
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ESTRAGON: That would be too bad, really too bad. ( Pause.) Wouldn't it, Didi, be really too bad? ( Pause.) When you think of the beauty of the way. ( Pause.) And the goodness of the wayfarers
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Calm . . . calm . . . The English say cawm
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With all that follows. Where it falls mandrakes grow. That's why they shriek when you pull them up. Did you not know that?