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Be again, be again. (Pause.) All that old misery. (Pause.) Once wasn't enough for you.

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
Pause
Pauses
Misery
Wasn
Enough

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The only sin is the sin of being born.
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I, of whom I know nothing, I know my eyes are open, because of the tears that pour from them unceasingly.
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How hideous is the semicolon.
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I shall state silences more competently than ever a better man spangled the butterflies of vertigo.
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What are we doing here, that is the question.
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Dublin university contains the cream of Ireland: Rich and thick.
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The blind have no notion of time. The things of time are hidden from them too.
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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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Mysterious affair, electricity.
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The human eyelid is not teartight (happily for the human eye).
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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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My notes have a curious tendency, as I realize at last, to annihilate all they purport to record.
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We lose our hair, our teeth! Our bloom, our ideals.
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Two in distressmake sorrow less.
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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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We have time to grow old. The air is full of our cries. But habit is a great deadener.
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Adulterers, take warning, never admit.
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There is no escape from yesterday because yesterday has deformed us, or been deformed by us. The mood is of no importance. Deformation has taken place.
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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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