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Birth was the death of him.
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
Birth
Death
More quotes by Samuel Beckett
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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HAMM: We're not beginning to... to... mean something? CLOV: Mean something! You and I, mean something! (Brief laugh.) Ah that's a good one!
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Better hope deferred than none.
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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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Nothing happens. Nobody comes, nobody goes. It's awful.
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There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the fault of his feet.
Samuel Beckett
What are we doing here, that is the question.
Samuel Beckett
It's a rare thing not to have been bonny-- once.
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All I know is what the words know, and dead things, and that makes a handsome little sum, with a beginning and a middle and an end, as in the well-built phrase and the long sonata of the dead.
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The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep, somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh.
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There is this to be said for Dachsunds of such length and lowness as Nelly, that it makes very little difference to their appearance whether they stand, sit or lie.
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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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The sky sinks in the morning, this fact has been insufficiently observed.
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Habit is the ballast that chains the dog to his vomit.
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Where am I, I don't know, I'll never know, in the silence, in the silence you don't know, you must go on, I can't go on, I'll go on.
Samuel Beckett
Suffering is the main condition of the artistic experience.
Samuel Beckett
Words are all we have.
Samuel Beckett
VLADIMIR: What do they say? ESTRAGON: They talk about their lives. VLADIMIR: To have lived is not enough for them. ESTRAGON: They have to talk about it.
Samuel Beckett
Unfathomable mind, now beacon, now sea.
Samuel Beckett
Estragon: I can't go on like this. Vladimir: That's what you think.
Samuel Beckett
