Samuel Beckett Quotes
I, of whom I know nothing, I know my eyes are open, because of the tears that pour from them unceasingly.
Samuel Beckett
Quotes to Explore
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I struggle if I have chaos around me, but at the same time, if I don't have it, I'm uncomfortable. It's a strange thing: If I don't have chaos, I create it.
Sam Taylor-Wood
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You're not a historian, but most historians will tell you that they make very discrete judgment as to what facts to omit in order to make their book into some shape, some length that can be managed.
Oliver Stone
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I can create institutions, but I can't rewrite the chips in people's heads.
Paddy Ashdown
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Words aren't very good at describing complicated, strange visual things. You can try, and the reader will have some sort of image in their mind, but words aren't good at that.
Yann Martel
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We need to ask who is the enemy, and the enemies are terrorists.
Zbigniew Brzezinski
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I'm not really a piano player, but I play enough to get away with it.
Sam Hunt
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Perhaps our own fin-de-siècle decadence takes the form, not of libertarian excess, but of the kind of over-the-top puritanism we see in political correctness and the assorted moral certainties of physical fitness fanatics, New Agers and animal-rights activists.
J. G. Ballard
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I think it's important to take chances.
David Sedaris
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Niagara Falls is simply a vast unnecessary amount of water going over the wrong way and then falling over unnecessary cliffs...The wonder would be if the water did not fall.
Oscar Wilde
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'Our guide, a fisherman. A good fellow.' 'He doesn't hate us?' 'Hate us?' 'I keep being told how the Spanish hate us, sir.' 'He hates the French, like I do, Sharpe. If there is one constancy in this vale of tears, it is always hate the damned French, always.'
Bernard Cornwell
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Over your breasts of motionless current, over your legs of firmness and water, over the permanence and the pride of your naked hair I want to be, my love, now that the tears are thrown into the raucous baskets where they accumulate, I want to be, my love, alone with a syllable of mangled silver, alone with a tip of your breast of snow.
Pablo Neruda
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I, of whom I know nothing, I know my eyes are open, because of the tears that pour from them unceasingly.
Samuel Beckett