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It was long since I had longed for anything and the effect on me was horrible.
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
Anything
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Horrible
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Effects
Since
More quotes by Samuel Beckett
Mysterious affair, electricity.
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Nothing happens. Nobody comes, nobody goes. It's awful.
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Deplorable mania, when something happens, to inquire what.
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That penny farthing hell you call your mind
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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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Habit is a compromise effected between an individual and his environment.
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Humbly to ask a favour of people who are on the point of knocking your brains out sometimes produces good results.
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We all are born mad. Some remain so.
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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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What a joy to know where one is, and where one will stay, without being there. Nothing to do but stretch out comfortably on the rack, in the blissful knowledge you are nobody for all eternity. A pity I should have to give tongue at the same time, it prevents it from bleeding in peace, licking the lips.
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Unfathomable mind, now beacon, now sea.
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There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the fault of his feet.
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Nothing matters but the writing. There has been nothing else worthwhile... a stain upon the silence.
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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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There is no use indicting words, they are no shoddier than what they peddle.
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What goes by the name of love is banishment, with now and then a postcard from the homeland, such is my considered opinion, this evening.
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The time is perhaps not altogether too green for the vile suggestion that art has nothing to do with clarity, does not dabble in the clear and does not make clear, and more than the light of day (or night) makes the subsolar, -lunar, and -stellar excrement. Art is the sun, moon, and stars of the mind, the whole mind.
Samuel Beckett
I could not have gone through the awful wretched mess of life without having left a stain upon the silence.
Samuel Beckett
I marshalled the words and opened my mouth, thinking I would hear them. But all I heard was a kind of rattle, unintelligible even to me who knew what was intended.
Samuel Beckett
Poets are the sense, philosophers the intelligence of humanity.
Samuel Beckett
