Quote

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.

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
Knew
Heard
Unintelligible
Words
Rattle
Even
Intended
Kind
Opened
Would
Mouth
Thinking
Mouths
Hear

More quotes by Samuel Beckett

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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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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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To-morrow, when I wake, or think I do, what shall I say of to-day?
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How do you manage it, she said, at your age? I told her I'd been saving up for her all my life.
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The time is perhaps not altogether too green for the vile suggestion that art has nothing to do with clarity, does not dabble in the clear and does not make clear, and more than the light of day (or night) makes the subsolar, -lunar, and -stellar excrement. Art is the sun, moon, and stars of the mind, the whole mind.
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Let's go. We can't. Why not? We're waiting for Godot.
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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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The blind have no notion of time. The things of time are hidden from them too.
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The sky sinks in the morning, this fact has been insufficiently observed.
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I say me, knowing all the while it's not me.
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Hold the old holding hand. Hold and be held. Plod on and never recede. Slowly with never a pause plod on and never recede.
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Enough to know no knowing.
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We are all born crazy. Some remain that way.
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Try again. Fail again. Try better.
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Unhappy, but not unhappy enough.
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The short winter’s day was drawing to a close. It seems to me sometimes that these are the only days I have ever known, and especially that most charming moment of all, just before night wipes them out.
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But at this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is us, whether we like it or not. Let us make the most of it, before it is too late!
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Estragon: I'm like that. Either I forget right away or I never forget.
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What goes by the name of love is banishment, with now and then a postcard from the homeland, such is my considered opinion, this evening.
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Be again, be again. (Pause.) All that old misery. (Pause.) Once wasn't enough for you.
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