Quote

Yes, in my life, since we must call it so, there were three things, the inability to speak, the inability to be silent, and solitude, that’s what I’ve had to make the best of.

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
Best
Must
Inability
Make
Solitude
Things
Silent
Life
Since
Call
Speak
Three

More quotes by Samuel Beckett

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The tears stream down my cheeks from my unblinking eyes. What makes me weep so? There is nothing saddening here. Perhaps it is liquefied brain.
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To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now.
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Don’t wait to be hunted to hide, that was always my motto.
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No painting is more replete than Mondrian's.
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You would do better, at least no worse, to obliterate texts than to blacken margins, to fill in the holes of words till all is blank and flat and the whole ghastly business looks like what it is, senseless, speechless, issueless misery.
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Mysterious affair, electricity.
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The reality of the individualis an incoherent reality and must be expressed incoherently.
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Better hope deferred than none.
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Let me go to hell, that's all I ask, and go on cursing them there, and them look down and hear me, that might take some of the shine off their bliss.
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Nothing is funnier than unhappiness, I grant you that. Yes, yes, it's the most comical thing in the world.
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The Tuesday scowls, the Wednesday growls, the Thursday curses, the Friday howls, the Saturday snores, the Sunday yawns, the Monday morns, the Monday morns. The whacks, the moans, the cracks, the groans, the welts, the squeaks, the belts, the shrieks, the pricks, the prayers, the kicks, the tears, the skelps, and the yelps.
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Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn't want them back. Not with the fire in me now. No, I wouldn't want them back.
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I have my faults, but changing my tune is not one of them.
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The old endless chain of love, tolerance, indifference, aversion and disgust
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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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James Joyce: His writing is not about something. It is the thing itself.
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If by Godot I had meant God I would have said God, and not Godot.
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I can't go on. I'll go on.
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But it seems impossible to speak and yet say nothing, you think you have succeeded, but you always overlook something.
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Words and images run riot in my head, pursuing, flying, clashing, merging, endlessly. But beyond this tumult there is a great calm, and a great indifference, never really to be troubled by anything again.
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