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What goes by the name of love is banishment, with now and then a postcard from the homeland, such is my considered opinion, this evening.

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
Opinion
Postcard
Names
Banishment
Love
Postcards
Homeland
Evening
Considered
Goes
Name

More quotes by Samuel Beckett

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But I know what darkness is, it accumulates, thickens, then suddenly bursts and drowns everything.
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What a joy to know where one is, and where one will stay, without being there. Nothing to do but stretch out comfortably on the rack, in the blissful knowledge you are nobody for all eternity. A pity I should have to give tongue at the same time, it prevents it from bleeding in peace, licking the lips.
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Don't look for meaning in the words. Listen to the silences.
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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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James Joyce was a synthesizer, trying to bring in as much as he could. I am an analyzer, trying to leave out as much as I can.
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The old endless chain of love, tolerance, indifference, aversion and disgust
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In the landscape of extinction, precision is next to godliness.
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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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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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I don't know why I told this story. I could just as well have told another. Perhaps some other time I'll be able to tell another. Living souls, you will see how alike they are.
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Sometimes I wonder if I'm in my right mind. Then it passes off and I'm as intelligent as ever.
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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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Love requited is a short circuit.
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To find a form that accommodates the shape of the mess, that is the task of the artist now.
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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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My mistakes are my life.
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Abode where lost bodies roam each searching for its lost one.
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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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Unhappy, but not unhappy enough.
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If by Godot I had meant God I would have said God, and not Godot.
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