Dream of Fair to Middling Women by Samuel Beckett Page B

sick if anything does. Whatever she was she was not that kind. We suppose we can say she looked like an ulula in pietra serena, a parrot in a Pietà. On occasions that is. Not we need scarcely point out in the helmet of salvation.
    By Jove when we look back and think how chaste was the passion of mutual attraction that juxtaposed those two young people in the first instance! It is out of the questions, it is beyond our poor powers, to give you any idea of the reverence with which they—how shall we say?—clave the one to the other in an ecstasy and an agony of mystical adhesion. Yessir! An ecstasy and an agony! A sentimentical coagulum, sir, that biggers descruption. Don't we know for a positive fact that th'unhappy Belacqua, separated from his douce Vega by two channels and 29 hours third if he went over Ostend, tossing and turning and tightening the tender white worms of his nervi nervorum with the frogs’ and the corncrakes’ Chinese chromatisms, inscribed to his darling blue flower some of the finest Night of May hiccupsobs that ever left a fox's paw sneering and rotting in a snaptrap. E.g.
    At last I find in my confusèd soul,
    Dark with the dark flame of the cypresses,
    The certitude that I cannot be whole,
    Consummate, finally achieved, unless
    I be consumed and fused in the white heat
    Of her sad finite essence, so that none
    Shall sever us who are at last complete
    Eternally, irrevocably one,
    One with the birdless, cloudless, colourless skies,
    One with the bright purity of the fire
    Of which we are and for which we must die
    A rapturous strange death and be entire,
    Like syzygetic stars, supernly bright,
    Conjoined in the One and in the Infinite!
    Lilly Neary has a lovely gee and her pore Paddy got his B.A. and by the holy fly I wouldn't recommend you to ask me what class of a tree they were under when he put his hand on her and enjoyed that. The thighjoy through the fingers and what do you suppose she wants for her thigh-beauty? A bitch-melba and a long long come and go before breakfast, toast and. Keycold Lucrece the chaste and the castaway in the cruel tights and Christ the useful culmination, fouterpounds through the fingers. No, more—more?—other, than that to my bright agenesia. No no don't admire that. No but I thought I thought perhaps honeysuckle round the cradle, custard and nutmeg on my grave, and the Eingang? Then he reddied his nose with the hand that came off her. Christ that was fine too. I wouldn't be seen looking at your Haus Albrecht Dürer, Adam Kraft my iron buck virgin. No smoking in the torture chamber. Not really you don't mean to tell me well well! Now the thin little sandy bony with the fine little stout son in Hanover, furchtbar all of a sudden with tears, now I must go and dien in the, the others do the streets but I go and dien in the, furchtbar, find a hotel, take a Wagen, no?, write, to hell with you, strive for your stout little hoffentlich ballbearing bastardpimp, I'll spend the night in the station, without the Benedictina, my old bald darling, your garret stinks of, I won't kiss your playful hand, daß heißt spielen, my dolorific nymphae and a tic doulheureux in th'imperforate hymen, what's the Dutch for randy, my dirty little hungry little bony vulture of a whorchen away up first-floor Burg-ward over the stream, I'll send you a Schein when I have a Schwips. No effing smoking do you hear me in the effing Folterzimmer. I had to ask her little sister and she closed me the vowel. I wonder did I do well to leave my notes at home, in 39 under the east wind, weind please. Well thento get back to what we were saying when he'd picked his nose for a little bit and the thighs there Gott sei dank he rose did he not and left her playing there against the oak before the ash, oh don't infuriate me don't bother me, let me pay let me buy you etwas, eat my little Au gen Celery-ice Celeryice, did he not, and wandered up hill and down dale like the cat and the mouse