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Nothing happens. Nobody comes, nobody goes. It's awful.

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
Nothing
Godot
Inertia
Bored
Awful
Nobody
Goes
Comes
Happens

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Nothing is more real than nothing.
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I try. I fail. I try again. I fail better.
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Habit is a compromise effected between the individual and his environment, or between the individual and his own organic eccentricities, the guarantee of a dull inviolability, the lightning-conductor of his existence.
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Unhappy, but not unhappy enough.
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There's something dripping in my head. A heart, a heart in my head.
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Don't look for meaning in the words. Listen to the silences.
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I pause to record that I feel in extraordinary form. Delirium perhaps.
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We should have thought of it when the world was young, in the nineties.
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An imaginative adventure does not enjoy the same corsets as reportage.
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Do we mean love, when we say love?
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I can't go on. I'll go on.
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Our vulgar perception is not concerned with other than vulgar phenomena.
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To find a form that accommodates the shape of the mess, that is the task of the artist now.
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Dear incomprehension, it's thanks to you I'll be myself, in the end.
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Reality, whether approached imaginatively or empirically, remains a surface, hermetic.
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God is a witness that cannot be sworn.
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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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If you don't know where you are currently standing, you're dead.
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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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