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Habit is a compromise effected between an individual and his environment.

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
Compromise
Habit
Environment
Individual
Effected

More quotes by Samuel Beckett

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The time is perhaps not altogether too green for the vile suggestion that art has nothing to do with clarity, does not dabble in the clear and does not make clear, and more than the light of day (or night) makes the subsolar, -lunar, and -stellar excrement. Art is the sun, moon, and stars of the mind, the whole mind.
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How long have I been here, what a question, I've often wondered. And often I could answer, An hour, a month, a year, a century, depending on what I meant by here, and me, and being, and there I never went looking for extravagant meanings, there I never much varied, only the here would sometimes seem to vary.
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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 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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I want very much to be back in the caul, on my back in the dark forever.
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Reality, whether approached imaginatively or empirically, remains a surface, hermetic.
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Habit is the ballast that chains the dog to his vomit.
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Estragon: I can't go on like this. Vladimir: That's what you think.
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Hardly had the glow been kindled by some good deed on your part or by some little triumph over your rivals or by a word of praisefrom your parents or mentors when it would begin to cool and fade leaving you in a very short time as chill and dim as before.
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I knew it would soon be the end, so I played the part, you know, the part of — how shall I say, I don’t know.
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Light black. From pole to pole.
Samuel Beckett
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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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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?
Samuel Beckett
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How hideous is the semicolon.
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Never but the one matter. The dead and gone. The dying and going. From the word go.
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Nothing happens. Nobody comes, nobody goes. It's awful.
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Unhappy, but not unhappy enough.
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What is this love that more than all the cursed deadly or any other of its great movers so moves the soul and soul what is this soul that more than by any of its great movers is by love so moved?
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Yes, there were times when I forgot not only who I was but that I was, forgot to be.
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But it seems impossible to speak and yet say nothing, you think you have succeeded, but you always overlook something.
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