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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.

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
Soul
Perhaps
Wells
Told
Well
Story
Time
Living
Tell
Another
Stories
Alike
Able
Souls

More quotes by Samuel Beckett

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That desert of loneliness and recrimination that men call love.
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We should have thought of it when the world was young, in the nineties.
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We always find something, eh Didi, to let us think we exist?
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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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Vladimir: Did I ever leave you? Estragon: You let me go.
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Make sense who may. I switch off.
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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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God is love. Yes or no? No.
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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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Dying for dark — and the darker the Worse. Strange.
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Dear incomprehension, it's thanks to you I'll be myself, in the end.
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If you don't know where you are currently standing, you're dead.
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What is this love that more than all the cursed deadly or any other of its great movers so moves the soul and soul what is this soul that more than by any of its great movers is by love so moved?
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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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I could not have gone through the awful wretched mess of life without having left a stain upon the silence.
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[T]he syndrome known as life is too diffuse to admit of palliation. For every symptom that is eased, another is made worse. The horse leech's daughter is a closed system. Her quantum of wantum cannot vary.
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Enough of acting the infant who has been told so often how he was found under a cabbage that in the end he remembers the exact spot in the garden and the kind of life he led there before joining the family circle.
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Yes, there were times when I forgot not only who I was but that I was, forgot to be.
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It is useless not to seek, not to want, for when you cease to seek you start to find, and when you cease to want, then life begins to ram her fish and chips down your gullet until you puke, and then the puke down your gullet until you puke the puke, and then the puked puke until you begin to like it.
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The human eyelid is not teartight (happily for the human eye).
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