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Samuel Beckett Quotes

Poets are the sense, philosophers­­ the intelligence­­ of humanity.

How do you manage it, she said, at your age? I told her I'd been saving up for her all my life.

Krapp's Last Tape & Embers

In reality I said nothing at all, but I heard a murmur, something gone wrong with the silence, and I...

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Molloy

The new light above my table is a great improvement. With all this darkness around me I feel less al...

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Krapp's Last Tape & Embers

I lay down across her with my face in her breasts and my hand on her. We lay there without moving. B...

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Krapp's Last Tape & Embers

He sometimes halted without saying anything. Either he had finally nothing to say or while having so...

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Texts for Nothing and Other Shorter Prose 1950-1976

Be again, be again. (Pause.) All that old misery. (Pause.) Once wasn't enough for you.

Krapp's Last Tape & Embers

For in me there have always been two fools, among others, one asking nothing better than to stay whe...

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Dying for dark - the darker the worse. Strange.

And perhaps there is none, no morrow anymore, for one who has waited so long for it in vain. And per...

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The forms are many in which the unchanging seeks relief from its formlessness.

We always find something, eh Didi, to let us think we exist?

The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep somewhere else anoth...

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The more people I meet the happier I become.

POZZO:I am blind.(Silence.)ESTRAGON:Perhaps he can see into the future.

They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more.

Waiting for Godot

VLADIMIR: Moron!ESTRAGON: Vermin!VLADIMIR: Abortion!ESTRAGON: Morpion!VLADIMIR: Sewer-rat!ESTRAGON: ...

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Waiting for Godot

To every man his little cross. Till he dies. And is forgotten.

Waiting for Godot

E: Well, shall we go?V: Yes, let's go.(They do not move)

Waiting for Godot

In an instant all will vanish and we'll be alone once more, in the midst of nothingness.

Waiting for Godot

Astride of a grave and a difficult birth.Down in the hole, lingeringly, the grave digger puts on the...

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Waiting for Godot

Estragon: I remember the maps of the Holy Land. Coloured they were. Very pretty. The Dead Sea was pa...

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(Looking at the tree) Pity we haven't got a bit of rope.

Waiting for Godot

For the only way one can speak of nothing is to speak of it as though it were something, just as the...

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But we know that we are no longer the same, and not only know that we are no longer the same, but kn...

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Personally of course I regret everything.Not a word, not a deed, not a thought, not a need,not a gri...

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But he had turned, little by little, a disturbance into words, he had made a pillow of old words, fo...

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Watt

Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.—Samuel Beckett, Worstward Ho...

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All of old. Nothing else ever. Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail bette...

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With a cluther of limbs and organs, all that is needed to live again, to hold out a little time, I'l...

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Texts for Nothing and Other Shorter Prose 1950-1976

they comedifferent and the samewith each it is different and the samewith each the absence of love i...

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Selected Poems 1930-1988

ESTRAGON: Don't touch me! Don't question me! Don't speak to me! Stay with me!VLADIMIR: Did I ever le...

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Waiting for Godot

Memory and Habit are attributes of the Time cancer. They control the most simple Proustian episode, ...

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Friendship, according to Proust, is the negation of that irremediable solitude to which every human ...

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The creation of the world did not take place once and for all time, but takes place every day.

Proust

Curiosity is the hair of our habit tending to stand on end. It rarely happens that our attention is ...

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Seen no matter how and said as seen. Dread of black. Of white. Of void. Let her vanish. And the rest...

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As it is with the love of the body, so with the friendship of the mind, the full is only reached by ...

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Nor did he think of Celia any more, though he could sometimes remember having dreamt of her. If only...

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She was willing a little bit of sweated labour, incapable of betraying the slogan of her slavers, th...

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And yet sometimes it seems to me I am there, among the incriminated scenes, tottering under the attr...

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Molloy

...The less I think of it the more certain I am.

Molloy

But there are not two laws, that was the next thing I thought I understood, not two laws, one for th...

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Yes, there is no good pretending, it is hard to leave everything.

Unfathomable mind: now beacon, now sea.

Molloy

My mother. I don't think too harshly of her. I know she did all she could not to have me, except of ...

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Molloy

[Y]ou cannot mention everything in its proper place, you must choose, between the things not worth m...

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Don’t wait to be hunted to hide, that was always my motto.

[I]f you set out to mention everything you would never be done, and that's what counts, to be done, ...

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Have you shat, my child, I said gently.

And I seemed to see myself ageing as swiftly as a day-fly. But the idea of ageing was not exactly th...

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Lucky's monologue: "(...)the strides of physical culture the practice of sports such as tennis footb...

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Waiting for Godot

My master then, assuming he is solitary, in my image, wishes me well, poor devil, wishes my good, an...

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The Unnamable

Yes, in my life, since we must call it so, there were three things, the inability to speak, the inab...

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There he is then, the unfortunate brute, quite miserable because of me, for whom there is nothing to...

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The Unnamable

To have been always what I am - and so changed from what I was.

Happy Days

I don’t know: perhaps it’s a dream, all a dream. (That would surprise me.) I’ll wake, in the silence...

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There is no use indicting words, they are no shoddier than what they peddle.

Malone Dies

You must go on.I can’t go on.I’ll go on.

Light heat all known all white heart breath no sound.

Texts for Nothing and Other Shorter Prose 1950-1976

...nothing ever as much as begun, nothing ever but nothing and never, nothing ever but lifeless word...

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Texts for Nothing and Other Shorter Prose 1950-1976

There's my life, why not, it is one, if you like, if you must, I don't say no, this evening. There h...

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Texts for Nothing and Other Shorter Prose 1950-1976

Name, no, nothing is namable, tell, no, nothing can be told, what then, I don't know, I shouldn't ha...

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Texts for Nothing and Other Shorter Prose 1950-1976

But mostly not for nothing never quite for nothing even stillest night when air too still for even t...

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Texts for Nothing and Other Shorter Prose 1950-1976

...then much, then little, then nothing.

Texts for Nothing and Other Shorter Prose 1950-1976

But even them, my pains, I understand ill. That must come from my not being all pain and nothing els...

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The Complete Short Prose

She began stroking my ankles. I considered kicking her in the cunt.

The Complete Short Prose

They love each other, marry (in order to love each other better, more conveniently). He goes to the ...

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The Unnamable

When I penetrate into that house, if I ever do, it will be to go on turning, faster and faster, more...

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The tears stream down my cheeks from my unblinking eyes. What makes me weep so? There is nothing sad...

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The Unnamable

I'm all these words, all these strangers, this dust of words, with no ground for their settling, no ...

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The Unnamable

It was long since I had longed for anything and the effect on me was horrible.

I shall soon be quite dead at last in spite of all.

Malone Dies

I must be happy, he said, it is less pleasant than I should have thought.

Malone Dies

Ah earth you old extinguisher.

To be always what I am - and so changed from what I was.

Happy Days

In the name of Bacon will you chicken me up that egg.Shall I swallow cave-phantoms?

Collected Poems in English and French

Spend the years of learning squanderingCourage for the years of wanderingThrough a world politely tu...

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Collected Poems in English and French

Bloom of adulthood. Try a whiff of that. On your back in the dark you remember. Ah you remember. Clo...

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It is suicide to be abroad. But what it is to be at home, ... what it is to be at home? A lingering ...

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All That Fall and Other Plays for Radio and Screen

Cascando"why not merely the despaired ofoccasion ofwordshedis it not better abort than be barrenthe ...

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I can't go on, I'll go on.

Incontinent the void. The zenith. Evening again. When not night it will be evening. Death again of d...

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Ill Seen Ill Said

And on the threshold of being no more I succeed in being another.

Malone Dies

I was limply poking about in the garbage saying probably, for at that age I must still have been cap...

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What is certain is this, that I never rested in that way again, my feet obscenely resting on the ear...

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The end is in the beginning and yet you go on.

Endgame

CLOV:Do you believe in the life to come?HAMM:Mine was always that.

Endgame & Act Without Words

I tried to groan, Help! Help! But the tone that came out was that of polite conversation.

First Love and Other Novellas

Boys my age with whom, in spite of everything, I was obliged to mix occasionally, mocked me.

First Love and Other Novellas

Estragon: They're too bigVladimir: Perhaps you'll have socks some day

There's never an end for the sea.

We are all born mad. Some remain so.

I asked her to look at me and after a few moments - (pause) - after a few moments she did, but the e...

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Krapp's Last Tape & Embers

HAMM:Scoundrel! Why did you engender me?NAGG:I didn't know.HAMM:What? What didn't you know?NAGG:That...

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Nothing is funnier than unhappiness.

You can't have everything, I've often noticed it.

I happened to look up and there it was. All over and done with, at last. I sat on for a few moments ...

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Krapp's Last Tape & Embers

Words are the clothes thoughts wear.

If you do not love me I shall not be loved. If I do not love you I shall not love.

When a man in a forest thinks he is going forward in a straight line, in reality he is going in a ci...

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Picture of Samuel Beckett

Samuel Beckett

Novelist

Born: 1906-04-13

Died: 1989-12-22

Samuel Beckett (13 April 1906 – 22 December 1989) was an Irish playwright, novelist, poet and winner of the 1969 Nobel Prize in Literature. He wrote mainly in English and French.More