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Over, over, there is a soft place in my heart for all that is over, no, for the being over, words have been my only loves, not many.

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
Heart
Soft
Loves
Words
Language
Place
Many

More quotes by Samuel Beckett

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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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The search for the means to put an end to things, an end to speech, is what enables the discourse to continue.
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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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Don’t wait to be hunted to hide, that was always my motto.
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Words fail, there are times when even they fail.
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Watt had watched people smile and thought he understood how it was done.
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Absolute virtue is as sure to kill a man as absolute vice is, let alone the dullness of it and the pomposities of it.
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Don't look for meaning in the words. Listen to the silences.
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Habit is a compromise effected between an individual and his environment.
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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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To-morrow, when I wake, or think I do, what shall I say of to-day?
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To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now.
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The only sin is the sin of being born.
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We wait. We are bored. (He throws up his hand.) No, don't protest, we are bored to death, there's no denying it. Good. A diversion comes along and what do we do? We let it go to waste. Come, let's get to work! (He advances towards the heap, stops in his stride.) In an instant all will vanish and we'll be alone more, in the midst of nothingness!
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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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My mistakes are my life.
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There is at least this to be said for mind, that it can dispel mind.
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Yes, in my life, since we must call it so, there were three things, the inability to speak, the inability to be silent, and solitude, that’s what I’ve had to make the best of.
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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.
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The fact is, it seems, that the most you can hope is to be a little less, in the end, the creature you were in the beginning, and the middle.
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