You're on Earth. There's no cure for that.

Science fiction is filled with Martians and space travel to other planets, and things like that.

The end is in the beginning and yet you go on.

How do you manage it, she said, at your age? I told her I'd been saving up for her all my life.

I lay down across her with my face in her breasts and my hand on her. We lay there without moving. But under us all moved, and moved us, gently, up and down, and from side to side.
(Pause. Krapp's lips move. No sound.)
Past midnight. Never knew such silence. The earth might be uninhabited.

The forms are many in which the unchanging seeks relief from its formlessness.