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No, I regret nothing, all I regret is having been born, dying is such a long tiresome business I always found.
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
Dying
Born
Business
Found
Nothing
Long
Always
Tiresome
Regret
More quotes by Samuel Beckett
James Joyce was a synthesizer, trying to bring in as much as he could. I am an analyzer, trying to leave out as much as I can.
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It was the only way to progress, to stop.
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Dear incomprehension, it's thanks to you I'll be myself, in the end.
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There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the fault of his feet.
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Try again. Fail again. Try better.
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Deplorable mania, when something happens, to inquire what.
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To-morrow, when I wake, or think I do, what shall I say of to-day?
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I am such a good man, at bottom, such a good man, how is it that nobody ever noticed it?
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The old endless chain of love, tolerance, indifference, aversion and disgust
Samuel Beckett
No painting is more replete than Mondrian's.
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I could not have gone through the awful wretched mess of life without having left a stain upon the silence.
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The search for the means to put an end to things, an end to speech, is what enables the discourse to continue.
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What a joy to know where one is, and where one will stay, without being there. Nothing to do but stretch out comfortably on the rack, in the blissful knowledge you are nobody for all eternity. A pity I should have to give tongue at the same time, it prevents it from bleeding in peace, licking the lips.
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Words are all we have.
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If by Godot I had meant God I would have said God, and not Godot.
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Dance first. Think later. It's the natural order.
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What kind of country is this where a woman can't weep her heart out on the highways and byways without being tormented by retired bill-brokers!
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I pause to record that I feel in extraordinary form. Delirium perhaps.
Samuel Beckett
The situation is that of him who is helpless, cannot act, in the event cannot paint, since he is obliged to paint. The act is of him who, helpless, unable to act, acts, in the event paints, since he is obliged to paint.
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Personally I have no bone to pick with graveyards.
Samuel Beckett