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We all are born mad. Some remain so.

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
Godot
Mad
Remain
Born

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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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There is at least this to be said for mind, that it can dispel mind.
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I tried to groan, Help! Help! But the tone that came out was that of polite conversation.
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I try. I fail. I try again. I fail better.
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You would do better, at least no worse, to obliterate texts than to blacken margins, to fill in the holes of words till all is blank and flat and the whole ghastly business looks like what it is, senseless, speechless, issueless misery.
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The tears stream down my cheeks from my unblinking eyes. What makes me weep so? There is nothing saddening here. Perhaps it is liquefied brain.
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God is a witness that cannot be sworn.
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The sky sinks in the morning, this fact has been insufficiently observed.
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The human eyelid is not teartight (happily for the human eye).
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The fact is, it seems, that the most you can hope is to be a little less, in the end, the creature you were in the beginning, and the middle.
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Words fail, there are times when even they fail.
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Never but the one matter. The dead and gone. The dying and going. From the word go.
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I have always been amazed at my contemporaries’ lack of finesse, I whose soul writhed from morning to night, in the mere quest of itself.
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Unfathomable mind, now beacon, now sea.
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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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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 want very much to be back in the caul, on my back in the dark forever.
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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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Love requited is a short circuit.
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Two in distressmake sorrow less.
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