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Yes, light, there is no other word for it.

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
Word
Light

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Words fail, there are times when even they fail.
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Clear to me at last that the dark I have always struggled to keep under is in reality my most
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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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To have been always what I am - and so changed from what I was.
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Love requited is a short circuit.
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When a man in a forest thinks he is going forward in a straight line, in reality he is going in a circle, I did my best to go in a circle, hoping to go in a straight line.
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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.
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The reality of the individualis an incoherent reality and must be expressed incoherently.
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Don't look for meaning in the words. Listen to the silences.
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It is useless not to seek, not to want, for when you cease to seek you start to find, and when you cease to want, then life begins to ram her fish and chips down your gullet until you puke, and then the puke down your gullet until you puke the puke, and then the puked puke until you begin to like it.
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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.
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Do we mean love, when we say love?
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Nothing matters but the writing. There has been nothing else worthwhile... a stain upon the silence.
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Adulterers, take warning, never admit.
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To every man his little cross. Till he dies. And is forgotten.
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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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There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the fault of his feet.
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There's never an end for the sea.
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Art has nothing to do with clarity, does not dabble in the clear and does not make clear
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In the landscape of extinction, precision is next to godliness.
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