in rapture

I, for a long time now have been wishing for more hours to the day. I do not regret any day really, rather I long for their lengthening. This applies here too. I really wish I had more time to do homework- My first through 12th grade, even several years into college self would kick my own ass for saying this- but I have been infected. As much reading as I consume I find myself in turn consumed. I speak here in limitations, though there seem to be no limits to this curse, because I am (can) only speak of Samuel Beckett in respect to time. I know we are in the middle of Finnegans Wake and it need not be mentioned the devour-power of that book, or the lecture (again-rapture) Ben Lubner gave us and will continue to give us tomorrow.
But Beckett has shanghied me and I see no end in sight. This was my first experience with Beckett, i've never read Gudot ( i dont think i even know how to spell it) Dr. Sexson initally really turned me off this book, i was telling people how horrible it was before i even read it, but i found it to be everything the contrary. It is though horrible. I must add this. But morbidity does not weigh heavy, though the text is itself beyond dense.
Its not really even possible to convey my infatuation with this book. I have never in my life. Never in my life, underlined as many passages, noted as many pages, and found myself as consumed between his mere periods (.) as i have with Beckett. I will post many if not all of these passages at another time. As with Nabokov, i am compelled to simply rewrite the book in its entirety, but i will limit myself to a select few. for there are many times when I would really stop, to laugh, well up(nearly) with tears as Doug has, or literally gasp because i felt as though i am granted admission to a radiance of poetics, unsurpassed by my knowledge.
You know those little quips they print on tea-bags. or in fortune cookies (this book is compiled of them!) -though often will-breakingly morose-
We should be reading Molloy in our tea, or at the end of a meal that (in Montana) will inevitably make you ill!
I don't want to sound like I'm just making shit up here. Maybe its because I went from Haroun (and a John Irving novel before that) to Molloy. but I am truly in rapture with this book with this writer.
between this an Lolita, i can't really recommend any more books to people (unless i know they'll get them)