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I could not have gone through the awful wretched mess of life without having left a stain upon the silence.
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
Upon
Left
Stain
Without
Stains
Life
Wretched
Mess
Awful
Silence
Gone
More quotes by Samuel Beckett
I don’t like animals. It’s a strange thing, I don’t like men and I don’t like animals. As for God, he is beginning to disgust me.
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All the things you would do gladly, oh without enthusiasm, but gladly, all the things there seems no reason for your not doing, and that you do not do! Can it be we are not free? It might be worth looking into.
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The old endless chain of love, tolerance, indifference, aversion and disgust
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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.
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Habit is a compromise effected between an individual and his environment.
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Nothing matters but the writing. There has been nothing else worthwhile... a stain upon the silence.
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Vladimir: Did I ever leave you? Estragon: You let me go.
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Not to want to say, not to know what you want to say, not to be able to say what you think you want to say, and never to stop saying, or hardly ever, that is the thing to keep in mind, even in the heat of composition.
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We always find something, eh Didi, to let us think we exist?
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What do I know of man's destiny? I could tell you more about radishes.
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I pause to record that I feel in extraordinary form. Delirium perhaps.
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It's a rare thing not to have been bonny-- once.
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Poets are the sense, philosophers the intelligence of humanity.
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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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In the landscape of extinction, precision is next to godliness.
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Yes, I dont know why, but I have never been disappointed, and I often was in the early days, without feeling at the same time, or a moment later, an undeniable relief.
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The reality of the individualis an incoherent reality and must be expressed incoherently.
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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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We lose our hair, our teeth! Our bloom, our ideals.
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All that is active, all that is enveloped in time and space, is endowed with what might be described as an abstract, ideal and absolute impermeability.
Samuel Beckett
