They said to me that’s love. Yes, yes, not a doubt. Now you see how easy it is. They said to me that’s friendship. Yes, yes, no question, you’ve found it. They said to me, here’s the place. Stop, raise your head and look at all that beauty, that order. They said to me, come now, you’re not a brute beast. Think upon these things and soon you’ll see how all becomes clear and simple. They said to me what skilled attention they get, all these dying of their wounds. I said to myself, sometimes Clov you must learn to suffer better than that, if you want them to weary of punishing you one day. I say to myself, sometimes, Clov, you must be there better than that if you want them to let you go one day. But I feel too old and too far to form new habits. Good. It’ll never end, I’ll never go. Then one day suddenly it ends, it changes. I don’t understand. It does, or it’s me, I don’t understand that either. I ask the words that remain, sleeping, waking, morning, evening. They have nothing to say. I open the door of the cell and go. I am so bowed I only see my feet, if I open my eyes, and between my legs a little trail of black dust. I say to myself that the earth is extinguished though I never saw it lit. It’s easy going. When I fall, I’ll weep for happiness.
Tag: Old Vic, Samuel Beckett, Alan Cumming, Daniel Radcliffe,