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The only thing you must never speak of is your happiness.
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
Happiness
Speak
Must
Thing
Never
More quotes by Samuel Beckett
We always find something, eh Didi, to let us think we exist?
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In the name of Bacon will you chicken me up that egg. Shall I swallow cave-phantoms?
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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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Light black. From pole to pole.
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We should have thought of it when the world was young, in the nineties.
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Don’t wait to be hunted to hide, that was always my motto.
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It's a rare thing not to have been bonny-- once.
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Ah, the old questions, the old answers, there's nothing like them!
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I try. I fail. I try again. I fail better.
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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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If I had the use of my body, I would throw it out the window.
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Watt had watched people smile and thought he understood how it was done.
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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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The old endless chain of love, tolerance, indifference, aversion and disgust
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James Joyce: His writing is not about something. It is the thing itself.
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Let's go. We can't. Why not? We're waiting for Godot.
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I shall state silences more competently than ever a better man spangled the butterflies of vertigo.
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Habit is the ballast that chains the dog to his vomit.
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The Tuesday scowls, the Wednesday growls, the Thursday curses, the Friday howls, the Saturday snores, the Sunday yawns, the Monday morns, the Monday morns. The whacks, the moans, the cracks, the groans, the welts, the squeaks, the belts, the shrieks, the pricks, the prayers, the kicks, the tears, the skelps, and the yelps.
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I could not have gone through the awful wretched mess of life without having left a stain upon the silence.
Samuel Beckett