come quench these two old coals that have nothing more to see and this old kiln destroyed by fire and in all this tenement

all this tenement of naught from top to bottom from hair to toe and finger-nails what little sensation it still has of what it still is in all its parts and dream

dream come of a sky an earth an under-earth where I am inconceivable

Samuel Beckett, How It Goes, Grove Press, New York, 1964, p.36