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To-morrow, when I wake, or think I do, what shall I say of to-day?

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
Think
Thinking
Godot
Morrow
Wake
Shall

More quotes by Samuel Beckett

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Words are all we have.
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I, of whom I know nothing, I know my eyes are open, because of the tears that pour from them unceasingly.
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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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All has not been said and never will be.
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If you don't know where you are currently standing, you're dead.
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There is at least this to be said for mind, that it can dispel mind.
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To him who has nothing it is forbidden not to relish filth.
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Nothing is funnier than unhappiness, I grant you that. Yes, yes, it's the most comical thing in the world.
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Habit is a compromise effected between an individual and his environment.
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To be an artist is to fail, as no other dare fail, that failure is his world and the shrink from desertion, art and craft, good housekeeping, living.
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I pause to record that I feel in extraordinary form. Delirium perhaps.
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I gave up before birth.
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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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Over, over, there is a soft place in my heart for all that is over, no, for the being over, words have been my only loves, not many.
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I hope I am not too old to take it up seriously, nor too stupid about machines to qualify as a commercial pilot. I do not feel like spending the rest of my life writing books that no one will read. It is not as though I wanted to write them.
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Yes, light, there is no other word for it.
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The end is in the beginning and yet you go on.
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They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more.
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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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We lose our hair, our teeth! Our bloom, our ideals.
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