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I don’t like animals. It’s a strange thing, I don’t like men and I don’t like animals. As for God, he is beginning to disgust me.
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
Beginning
Strange
Animal
Thing
Men
Like
Disgust
Disgusting
Animals
More quotes by Samuel Beckett
The reality of the individualis an incoherent reality and must be expressed incoherently.
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Then I went back into the house and wrote, It is midnight. The rain is beating on the windows. It was not midnight. It was not raining.
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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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No painting is more replete than Mondrian's.
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Poets are the sense, philosophers the intelligence of humanity.
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I want very much to be back in the caul, on my back in the dark forever.
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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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Birth was the death of him.
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My mistakes are my life.
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Nothing matters but the writing. There has been nothing else worthwhile... a stain upon the silence.
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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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To be an artist is to fail, as no other dare fail, that failure is his world and the shrink from desertion, art and craft, good housekeeping, living.
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If you don't know where you are currently standing, you're dead.
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Where am I, I don't know, I'll never know, in the silence, in the silence you don't know, you must go on, I can't go on, I'll go on.
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The memory came faint and cold of the story I might have told, a story in the likeness of my life, I mean without the courage to end or the strength to go on.
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All the things you would do gladly, oh without enthusiasm, but gladly, all the things there seems no reason for your not doing, and that you do not do! Can it be we are not free? It might be worth looking into.
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[T]he syndrome known as life is too diffuse to admit of palliation. For every symptom that is eased, another is made worse. The horse leech's daughter is a closed system. Her quantum of wantum cannot vary.
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Enough of acting the infant who has been told so often how he was found under a cabbage that in the end he remembers the exact spot in the garden and the kind of life he led there before joining the family circle.
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Estragon: I'm like that. Either I forget right away or I never forget.
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That desert of loneliness and recrimination that men call love.
Samuel Beckett