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Vladimir: I don't understand. Estragon: Use your intelligence, can't you? Vladimir uses his intelligence. Vladimir: (finally) I remain in the dark.
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
Vladimir
Uses
Finally
Remain
Intelligence
Dark
Understand
Use
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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 wait. We are bored. (He throws up his hand.) No, don't protest, we are bored to death, there's no denying it. Good. A diversion comes along and what do we do? We let it go to waste. Come, let's get to work! (He advances towards the heap, stops in his stride.) In an instant all will vanish and we'll be alone more, in the midst of nothingness!
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But I know what darkness is, it accumulates, thickens, then suddenly bursts and drowns everything.
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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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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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Dying for dark — and the darker the Worse. Strange.
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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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The only sin is the sin of being born.
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Yes, there is no denying it, any longer, it is not you who are dead, but all the others. So you get up and go to your mother, who thinks she is alive. That's my impression. But now I shall have to get myself out of this ditch. How joyfully I would vanish here, sinking deeper and deeper under the rains.
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No painting is more replete than Mondrian's.
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In the name of Bacon will you chicken me up that egg. Shall I swallow cave-phantoms?
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Estragon: Nothing to be done.
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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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If I had the use of my body, I would throw it out the window.
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The situation is that of him who is helpless, cannot act, in the event cannot paint, since he is obliged to paint. The act is of him who, helpless, unable to act, acts, in the event paints, since he is obliged to paint.
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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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The bicycle is a great good. But it can turn nasty, if ill employed.
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