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There's never an end for the sea.

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
Sea
Ends
Never

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The old endless chain of love, tolerance, indifference, aversion and disgust
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Dance first. Think later. It's the natural order.
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in reality we are one and all from the unthinkable first to the no less unthinkable last glued together in a vast imbrication of flesh without breach or fissure
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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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Estragon: I'm like that. Either I forget right away or I never forget.
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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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Poetry is essentially the antithesis of Metaphysics: Metaphysics purge the mind of the senses and cultivate the disembodiment of the spiritual Poetry is all passionate and feeling and animates the inanimate Metaphysics are most perfect when concerned with universals Poetry, when most concerned with particulars.
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But it seems impossible to speak and yet say nothing, you think you have succeeded, but you always overlook something.
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It was long since I had longed for anything and the effect on me was horrible.
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Humbly to ask a favour of people who are on the point of knocking your brains out sometimes produces good results.
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Yes, there is no denying it, any longer, it is not you who are dead, but all the others. So you get up and go to your mother, who thinks she is alive. That's my impression. But now I shall have to get myself out of this ditch. How joyfully I would vanish here, sinking deeper and deeper under the rains.
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Enough to know no knowing.
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Vladimir: I don't understand. Estragon: Use your intelligence, can't you? Vladimir uses his intelligence. Vladimir: (finally) I remain in the dark.
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No, I regret nothing, all I regret is having been born, dying is such a long tiresome business I always found.
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Words are all we have.
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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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Adulterers, take warning, never admit.
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The sky sinks in the morning, this fact has been insufficiently observed.
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