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For in me there have always been two fools, among others, one asking nothing better than to stay where he is and the other imagining that life might be slightly less horrible a little further on.
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
Might
Among
Nothing
Stay
Always
Less
Imagining
Life
Others
Slightly
Two
Fools
Littles
Horrible
Better
Asking
Little
Fool
More quotes by Samuel Beckett
Watt had watched people smile and thought he understood how it was done.
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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.
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It is better to adopt the simplest explanation, even if it is not simple, even if it does not explain very much. A bright light is not necessary, a taper is all one needs to live in strangeness, if it faithfully burns.
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What are we doing here, that is the question. And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in the immense confusion one thing alone is clear. We are waiting for Godot to come
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It's a rare thing not to have been bonny-- once.
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The human eyelid is not teartight (happily for the human eye).
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What are we doing here, that is the question.
Samuel Beckett
How long have I been here, what a question, I've often wondered. And often I could answer, An hour, a month, a year, a century, depending on what I meant by here, and me, and being, and there I never went looking for extravagant meanings, there I never much varied, only the here would sometimes seem to vary.
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The only thing you must never speak of is your happiness.
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Adulterers, take warning, never admit.
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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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Clear to me at last that the dark I have always struggled to keep under is in reality my most
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My keepers, why keepers, I'm in no danger of stirring an inch, ah I see, it's to make me think I'm a prisoner, frantic with corporeality, rearing to get out and away.
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To-morrow, when I wake, or think I do, what shall I say of to-day?
Samuel Beckett
Reality, whether approached imaginatively or empirically, remains a surface, hermetic.
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The search for the means to put an end to things, an end to speech, is what enables the discourse to continue.
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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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Mysterious affair, electricity.
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How hideous is the semicolon.
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What do I know of man's destiny? I could tell you more about radishes.
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