Samuel Beckett Quotes
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Krapp: Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn't want them back. Not with the fire in me now.
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My appearance still made people laugh, with that hearty jovial laugh so good for the health.
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Bah, the latest news, the latest news is not the last.
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No, I regret nothing, all I regret is having been born, dying is such a long tiresome business I always found.
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You're on earth. There's no cure for that.
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In the landscape of extinction, precision is next to godliness.
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Hamm: Can there be misery (he yawns) loftier than mine?
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Clov: When I fall I'll weep for happiness.
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Bid us sigh on from day to day,And wish and wish the soul away,Till youth and genial years are flown,And all the life of life is gone.
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How tell what remains ? But it’s the end. Or have I been dreaming, am I dreaming? No no, none of that, for dream is nothing, a joke, and significant what is worse.
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To contrive a little kingdom, in the midst of the universal muck, then shit on it, ah that was me all over.
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Dublin university contains the cream of Ireland: Rich and thick.
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I didn’t feel well, but they told me I was well enough. They didn’t say in so many words that I was as well as I would ever be, but that was the implication.
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Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness.
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I have my faults, but changing my tune is not one of them.
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Normally I didn’t see a great deal. I didn’t hear a great deal either. I didn’t pay attention. Strictly speaking I wasn’t there. Strictly speaking I believe I’ve never been anywhere.
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I shall state silences more competently than ever a better man spangled the butterflies of vertigo.
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To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now.
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What do I know of man's destiny? I could tell you more about radishes.
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He who has waited long enough, will wait forever. And there comes the hour when nothing more can happen and nobody more can come and all is ended but the waiting that knows itself in vain.
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I get up, go out, and everything is changed. The blood drains from my head, the noise of things bursting, merging, avoiding one another, assails me on all sides, my eyes search in vain for two things alike, each pinpoint of skin screams a different message, I drown in the spray of phenomena.
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Hamm: There's something dripping in my head. A heart, a heart in my head.
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It is right that he too should have his little chronicle, his memories, his reason, and be able to recognize the good in the bad, the bad in the worst, and so grow gently old down all the unchanging days, and die one day like any other day, only shorter.
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I have always been amazed at my contemporaries’ lack of finesse, I whose soul writhed from morning to night, in the mere quest of itself.