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Hold the old holding hand. Hold and be held. Plod on and never recede. Slowly with never a pause plod on and never recede.
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
Hands
Recede
Never
Pause
Pauses
Slowly
Holding
Held
Hold
Hand
Plod
More quotes by Samuel Beckett
I have always been amazed at my contemporaries’ lack of finesse, I whose soul writhed from morning to night, in the mere quest of itself.
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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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And all these questions I ask myself. It is not in a spirit of curiosity. I cannot be silent. About myself I need know nothing. Here all is clear. No, all is not clear. But the discourse must go on. So one invents obscurities. Rhetoric.
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What do I know of man's destiny? I could tell you more about radishes.
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It sometimes happens and will sometimes happen again that I forget who I am and strut before my eyes, like a stranger.
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Habit is a compromise effected between an individual and his environment.
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Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.' You won't believe what you can accomplish by attempting the impossible with the courage to repeatedly fail better.
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Don't touch me! Don't question me! Don't speak to me! Stay with me!
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Habit is the ballast that chains the dog to his vomit.
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I know those little phrases that seem so innocuous, and, once you let them in, pollute the whole of speech. 'Nothing is more real than nothing.' They rise up out of the pit and know no rest until they drag you down into its dark.
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God is a witness that cannot be sworn.
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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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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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Nothing matters but the writing. There has been nothing else worthwhile... a stain upon the silence.
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There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the fault of his feet.
Samuel Beckett
It was the only way to progress, to stop.
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To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now.
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It was long since I had longed for anything and the effect on me was horrible.
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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 can't go on. I'll go on.
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