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The situation is that of him who is helpless, cannot act, in the event cannot paint, since he is obliged to paint. The act is of him who, helpless, unable to act, acts, in the event paints, since he is obliged to paint.
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
Art
Helpless
Cannot
Event
Acts
Paint
Events
Since
Paints
Situation
Obliged
Literature
Unable
More quotes by Samuel Beckett
We lose our hair, our teeth! Our bloom, our ideals.
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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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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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Habit is the ballast that chains the dog to his vomit.
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To have been always what I am - and so changed from what I was.
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I know those little phrases that seem so innocuous, and, once you let them in, pollute the whole of speech. 'Nothing is more real than nothing.' They rise up out of the pit and know no rest until they drag you down into its dark.
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There's never an end for the sea.
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The memory came faint and cold of the story I might have told, a story in the likeness of my life, I mean without the courage to end or the strength to go on.
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When a man in a forest thinks he is going forward in a straight line, in reality he is going in a circle, I did my best to go in a circle, hoping to go in a straight line.
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To be an artist is to fail, as no other dare fail, that failure is his world and the shrink from desertion, art and craft, good housekeeping, living.
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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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Abode where lost bodies roam each searching for its lost one.
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I say me, knowing all the while it's not me.
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What kind of country is this where a woman can't weep her heart out on the highways and byways without being tormented by retired bill-brokers!
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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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Make sense who may. I switch off.
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What are we doing here, that is the question. And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in the immense confusion one thing alone is clear. We are waiting for Godot to come
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Personally I have no bone to pick with graveyards, I take the air there willingly, perhaps more willingly than elsewhere, when take the air I must.
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All has not been said and never will be.
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All that is active, all that is enveloped in time and space, is endowed with what might be described as an abstract, ideal and absolute impermeability.
Samuel Beckett
