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They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more.
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
Give
Gleams
Giving
Gleam
Time
Grave
Graves
Instant
Birth
Night
Astride
Light
Godot
More quotes by Samuel Beckett
What are we doing here, that is the question. And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in the immense confusion one thing alone is clear. We are waiting for Godot to come
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Vladimir: I don't understand. Estragon: Use your intelligence, can't you? Vladimir uses his intelligence. Vladimir: (finally) I remain in the dark.
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Let's go. We can't. Why not? We're waiting for Godot.
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Words are all we have.
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Two in distressmake sorrow less.
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It's a lot to ask of one creature, it's a lot to ask, that he should first behave as if he were not, then as if he were, before being admitted to that peace where he neither is, nor is not, and where the language dies that permits of such expressions.
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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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We all are born mad. Some remain so.
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Yes, light, there is no other word for it.
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And what I have, what I am, is enough, was always enough for me, and as far as my dear little sweet little future is concerned I have no qualms, I have a good time coming.
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Suffering is the main condition of the artistic experience.
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I marshalled the words and opened my mouth, thinking I would hear them. But all I heard was a kind of rattle, unintelligible even to me who knew what was intended.
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My notes have a curious tendency, as I realize at last, to annihilate all they purport to record.
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I say me, knowing all the while it's not me.
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Humbly to ask a favour of people who are on the point of knocking your brains out sometimes produces good results.
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Never but the one matter. The dead and gone. The dying and going. From the word go.
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Personally I have no bone to pick with graveyards, I take the air there willingly, perhaps more willingly than elsewhere, when take the air I must.
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We have time to grow old. The air is full of our cries. But habit is a great deadener.
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We should have thought of it when the world was young, in the nineties.
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There's something dripping in my head. A heart, a heart in my head.
Samuel Beckett