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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.
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
Failing
Housekeeping
Living
Shrink
Artist
Shrinks
Art
Craft
Good
Crafts
World
Dare
Fail
Failure
Desertion
More quotes by Samuel Beckett
Birth was the death of him.
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We are all born crazy. Some remain that way.
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Unhappy, but not unhappy enough.
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Estragon: Nothing to be done.
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Do we mean love, when we say love?
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I don't know why I told this story. I could just as well have told another. Perhaps some other time I'll be able to tell another. Living souls, you will see how alike they are.
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It's a rare thing not to have been bonny-- once.
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Habit is a compromise effected between an individual and his environment.
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My work is a matter of fundamental sounds (no joke intended) made as fully as possible, and I accept responsibility for nothing else. If people want to have headaches among the overtones, let them. And provide their own aspirin.
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We are not saints, but we have kept our appointment. How many people can boast as much?
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James Joyce: His writing is not about something. It is the thing itself.
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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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All has not been said and never will be.
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Sloth is all passions the most powerful.
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My keepers, why keepers, I'm in no danger of stirring an inch, ah I see, it's to make me think I'm a prisoner, frantic with corporeality, rearing to get out and away.
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I say me, knowing all the while it's not me.
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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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For in me there have always been two fools, among others, one asking nothing better than to stay where he is and the other imagining that life might be slightly less horrible a little further on.
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Dublin university contains the cream of Ireland: Rich and thick.
Samuel Beckett
