I was out of sorts. They are deep, my sorts, a deep ditch, and I am not often out of them.
Samuel BeckettAbout author
- Author's profession: Playwright, Writer
- Nationality: irish
- Born: April 13, 1906
- Died: December 22, 1989
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O trees of life, O when are you wintering?
We are not unified. We have no instincts
like those of migratory birds. Useless, and late,
we force ourselves, suddenly, onto the wind,
and fall down to an indifferent lake.
We realise flowering and fading together.
And somewhere lions still roam. Never knowing,
as long as they have their splendour, of any weakness.
Rainer Maria Rilke