Quote

[T]he syndrome known as life is too diffuse to admit of palliation. For every symptom that is eased, another is made worse. The horse leech's daughter is a closed system. Her quantum of wantum cannot vary.

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
Desire
Quantum
Leeches
Another
Closed
Diffuse
Cannot
Admit
Syndromes
Made
Worse
Syndrome
Every
Horse
Symptom
Life
Daughter
Vary
System
Pessimism
Leech
Known
Symptoms
Eased

More quotes by Samuel Beckett

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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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Do they [the publishers of Murphy] not understand that if the book is slightly obscure it is because it is a compression and thatto compress it further can only make it more obscure?
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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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Deplorable mania, when something happens, to inquire what.
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The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep, somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh.
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Estragon: I can't go on like this. Vladimir: That's what you think.
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The sky sinks in the morning, this fact has been insufficiently observed.
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For in me there have always been two fools, among others, one asking nothing better than to stay where he is and the other imagining that life might be slightly less horrible a little further on.
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Let me go to hell, that's all I ask, and go on cursing them there, and them look down and hear me, that might take some of the shine off their bliss.
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There is at least this to be said for mind, that it can dispel mind.
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I am such a good man, at bottom, such a good man, how is it that nobody ever noticed it?
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God is love. Yes or no? No.
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There is this to be said for Dachsunds of such length and lowness as Nelly, that it makes very little difference to their appearance whether they stand, sit or lie.
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The tears stream down my cheeks from my unblinking eyes. What makes me weep so? There is nothing saddening here. Perhaps it is liquefied brain.
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There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the fault of his feet.
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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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Dublin university contains the cream of Ireland: Rich and thick.
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And all these questions I ask myself. It is not in a spirit of curiosity. I cannot be silent. About myself I need know nothing. Here all is clear. No, all is not clear. But the discourse must go on. So one invents obscurities. Rhetoric.
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We always find something, eh Didi, to let us think we exist?
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