Happy Days Quotes

Act 1:

Winnie:

That is what I find so wonderful, that not a day goes by -- (smile) -- to speak in the old style -- (smile off) -- hardly a day, without some addition to one's knowledge however trifling, the addition I mean, provided one takes the pains.

. . . Something of this is being heard, I am not merely talking to myself, that is in the wilderness, a thing I could never bear to do -- for any length of time.  (Pause.)  That is what enables me to go on, go on talking that is.  (Pause.)  Whereas if you were to die -- (smile) -- to speak in the old style -- (smile off) -- or go away and leave me, then what would I do, what could I do, all day long, I mean between the bell for waking and the bell for sleep?  (Pause.)  Simply gaze before me with compressed lips.

Words fail, there are times when even they fail.

The earth is very tight today, can it have put on flesh, I trust not.

Oh I say, what have we here?  (Bending head to ground, incredulous.)  Looks like life of some kind!

I suppose some people might think us a trifle irreverent, but I doubt it.

And yet it is perhaps a little too soon for my song.  (Pause.)  To sing too soon is a great mistake, I find.

Yes, there is the bag.  But something tells me, Do not overdo the bag, Winnie, make use of it of course, let it help you . . . along, when stuck, by all means, but cast your mind forward, something tells me, cast your mind forward, Winnie, to the time when words must fail -- and do not overdo the bag.

And that perhaps some day the earth will yield and let me go, the pull is so great, yes, crack all round me and let me out.  (Pause.)  Don't you ever have that feeling, Willie, of being sucked up?  (Pause.)  Don't you have to cling on sometimes, Willie?

Forgive me, Willie, sorrow keeps breaking in.

Ah yes, so little to say, so little to do, and the fear so great, certain days, of finding oneself . . . left, with hours still to run, before the bell for sleep, and nothing more to say, nothing more to do, that the days go by, certain days go by, quite by, the bell goes, and little or nothing said, little or nothing done.

I cannot move.  No, something must happen, in the world, take place, some change, I cannot, if I am to move again.

. . . What's she doing? he says -- What's the idea? he says -- stuck up to her diddies in the bleeding ground . . .

I suppose this -- might seem strange -- this what I have said -- yes -- strange -- were it not -- that all seems strange.  Most strange.  Never any change.  And more and more strange.

What a curse, mobility!

Act 2:

Ergo you are there.  (Pause.)  Oh no doubt you are dead, like the others, no doubt you have died, or gone away and left me, like the others, it doesn't matter, you are there.  (Pause.  Eyes left.)  The bag too is there, the same as ever, I can see it.

Then . . . now . . . what difficulties here, for the mind.  To have been always what I am -- and so changed from what I was.  I am the one, I say the one, then the other.  Now the one, then the other.  There is so little one can say, one says it all.  All one can.  And no truth in it anywhere.  My arms.  My breasts.  What arms?  What breasts?  Willie.  What Willie?

I have not lost my reason.  Not yet.  Not all.  Some remains.  Sounds.  Like little . . . sunderings, little falls . . . apart.  It's things, Willie.  In the bag, outside the bag.  Ah yes, things have their life, that is what I always say, things have a life.  Take my looking-glass, it doesn't need me.

There is my story of course, when all else fails.