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There is no use indicting words, they are no shoddier than what they peddle.
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
Peddle
Words
Use
More quotes by Samuel Beckett
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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The sky sinks in the morning, this fact has been insufficiently observed.
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Suffering is the main condition of the artistic experience.
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Don't look for meaning in the words. Listen to the silences.
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Be again, be again. (Pause.) All that old misery. (Pause.) Once wasn't enough for you.
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Better hope deferred than none.
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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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There is no escape from yesterday because yesterday has deformed us, or been deformed by us. The mood is of no importance. Deformation has taken place.
Samuel Beckett
Do we mean love, when we say love?
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Unhappy, but not unhappy enough.
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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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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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My notes have a curious tendency, as I realize at last, to annihilate all they purport to record.
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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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Mysterious affair, electricity.
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It sometimes happens and will sometimes happen again that I forget who I am and strut before my eyes, like a stranger.
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All I know is what the words know, and dead things, and that makes a handsome little sum, with a beginning and a middle and an end, as in the well-built phrase and the long sonata of the dead.
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Decidedly it will never have been given to me to finish anything, except perhaps breathing. One must not be greedy.
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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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Dying for dark — and the darker the Worse. Strange.
Samuel Beckett