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Nothing matters but the writing. There has been nothing else worthwhile... a stain upon the silence.
Samuel Beckett
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Samuel Beckett
Age: 83 †
Born: 1906
Born: April 13
Died: 1989
Died: December 22
Artist
Author
Cricketer
Film Director
French Resistance Fighter
Intellectual
Linguist
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Screenwriter
Teacher
Dublin city
Samuel Barclay Beckett
Andrew Belis
Sam Beckett
Sa-miao-erh Pei-kʻo-tʻe
Samuel Beḳeṭ
Else
Nothing
Matter
Stain
Writing
Stains
Worthwhile
Matters
Silence
Upon
More quotes by Samuel Beckett
The time-state of attainment eliminates so accurately the time-state of aspiration, that the actual seems the inevitable, and, all conscious intellectual effort to reconstitute the invisible and unthinkable as a reality being fruitless, we are incapable of appreciating our joy by comparing it with our sorrow.
Samuel Beckett
The memory came faint and cold of the story I might have told, a story in the likeness of my life, I mean without the courage to end or the strength to go on.
Samuel Beckett
Sloth is all passions the most powerful.
Samuel Beckett
Deplorable mania, when something happens, to inquire what.
Samuel Beckett
Sometimes I wonder if I'm in my right mind. Then it passes off and I'm as intelligent as ever.
Samuel Beckett
You would do better, at least no worse, to obliterate texts than to blacken margins, to fill in the holes of words till all is blank and flat and the whole ghastly business looks like what it is, senseless, speechless, issueless misery.
Samuel Beckett
I tried to groan, Help! Help! But the tone that came out was that of polite conversation.
Samuel Beckett
Light black. From pole to pole.
Samuel Beckett
Hardly had the glow been kindled by some good deed on your part or by some little triumph over your rivals or by a word of praisefrom your parents or mentors when it would begin to cool and fade leaving you in a very short time as chill and dim as before.
Samuel Beckett
My keepers, why keepers, I'm in no danger of stirring an inch, ah I see, it's to make me think I'm a prisoner, frantic with corporeality, rearing to get out and away.
Samuel Beckett
Enough of acting the infant who has been told so often how he was found under a cabbage that in the end he remembers the exact spot in the garden and the kind of life he led there before joining the family circle.
Samuel Beckett
Words are all we have.
Samuel Beckett
Yes, there were times when I forgot not only who I was but that I was, forgot to be.
Samuel Beckett
To be an artist is to fail, as no other dare fail, that failure is his world and the shrink from desertion, art and craft, good housekeeping, living.
Samuel Beckett
Yes, there is no denying it, any longer, it is not you who are dead, but all the others. So you get up and go to your mother, who thinks she is alive. That's my impression. But now I shall have to get myself out of this ditch. How joyfully I would vanish here, sinking deeper and deeper under the rains.
Samuel Beckett
VLADIMIR: What do they say? ESTRAGON: They talk about their lives. VLADIMIR: To have lived is not enough for them. ESTRAGON: They have to talk about it.
Samuel Beckett
What do I know of man's destiny? I could tell you more about radishes.
Samuel Beckett
My notes have a curious tendency, as I realize at last, to annihilate all they purport to record.
Samuel Beckett
To every man his little cross. Till he dies. And is forgotten.
Samuel Beckett
I am such a good man, at bottom, such a good man, how is it that nobody ever noticed it?
Samuel Beckett
