Samuel Beckett Quotes
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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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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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I grow gnomic. It is the last phase.
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It was long since I had longed for anything and the effect on me was horrible.
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In the landscape of extinction, precision is next to godliness.
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Clov: When I fall I'll weep for happiness.
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Dublin university contains the cream of Ireland: Rich and thick.
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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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They were most correct, according to their god.
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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 shall state silences more competently than ever a better man spangled the butterflies of vertigo.
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Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness.
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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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I have my faults, but changing my tune is not one of them.
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To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now.
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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.
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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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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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Hamm: Can there be misery (he yawns) loftier than mine?
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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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Habit is a great deadener.
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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.
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What do I know of man's destiny? I could tell you more about radishes.
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Personally I have no bone to pick with graveyards.