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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.
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
Results
Brain
Humbly
Asks
Knocking
Point
Favour
Sometimes
Cunning
Good
Produces
People
Brains
Produce
More quotes by Samuel Beckett
We lose our hair, our teeth! Our bloom, our ideals.
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The human eyelid is not teartight (happily for the human eye).
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I gave up before birth.
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Habit is a compromise effected between the individual and his environment, or between the individual and his own organic eccentricities, the guarantee of a dull inviolability, the lightning-conductor of his existence.
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Mysterious affair, electricity.
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Estragon: I'm like that. Either I forget right away or I never forget.
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To-morrow, when I wake, or think I do, what shall I say of to-day?
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Dublin university contains the cream of Ireland: Rich and thick.
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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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It's a lot to ask of one creature, it's a lot to ask, that he should first behave as if he were not, then as if he were, before being admitted to that peace where he neither is, nor is not, and where the language dies that permits of such expressions.
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I say me, knowing all the while it's not me.
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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.
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In the landscape of extinction, precision is next to godliness.
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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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To every man his little cross. Till he dies. And is forgotten.
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In the name of Bacon will you chicken me up that egg. Shall I swallow cave-phantoms?
Samuel Beckett
And truly it little matters what I say, this or that or any other thing. Saying is inventing. Wrong, very rightly wrong. You invent nothing, you think you are inventing, you think you are escaping, and all you do is stammer out your lesson, the remnants of a pensum one day got by heart and long forgotten, life without tears, as it is wept.
Samuel Beckett
Deplorable mania, when something happens, to inquire what.
Samuel Beckett
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.
Samuel Beckett
Birth was the death of him.
Samuel Beckett
