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If I had the use of my body, I would throw it out the window.

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
Throw
Window
Use
Body
Would

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Enough to know no knowing.
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But it seems impossible to speak and yet say nothing, you think you have succeeded, but you always overlook something.
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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.
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When the object is perceived as particular and unique and not merely the member of a family, when it appears independent of any general notion and detached from the sanity of a cause, isolated and inexplicable in the light of ignorance, then and only then may it be a source of enchantment.
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That penny farthing hell you call your mind
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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
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And truly it little matters what I say, this or that or any other thing. Saying is inventing. Wrong, very rightly wrong. You invent nothing, you think you are inventing, you think you are escaping, and all you do is stammer out your lesson, the remnants of a pensum one day got by heart and long forgotten, life without tears, as it is wept.
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They never lynch children, babies, no matter what they do they are whitewashed in advance.
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Let me go to hell, that's all I ask, and go on cursing them there, and them look down and hear me, that might take some of the shine off their bliss.
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Try again. Fail again. Try better.
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We wait. We are bored. (He throws up his hand.) No, don't protest, we are bored to death, there's no denying it. Good. A diversion comes along and what do we do? We let it go to waste. Come, let's get to work! (He advances towards the heap, stops in his stride.) In an instant all will vanish and we'll be alone more, in the midst of nothingness!
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Yes, in my life, since we must call it so, there were three things, the inability to speak, the inability to be silent, and solitude, that’s what I’ve had to make the best of.
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You are not satisfied unless form is so strictly divorced from content that you can comprehend the one without almost without bothering to read the other.
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Light black. From pole to pole.
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Dublin university contains the cream of Ireland: Rich and thick.
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Mysterious affair, electricity.
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Unfathomable mind, now beacon, now sea.
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I use the words you taught me. If they don't mean anything any more, teach me others. Or let me be silent.
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The fact is, it seems, that the most you can hope is to be a little less, in the end, the creature you were in the beginning, and the middle.
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