All poetry, as discriminated from the various paradigms of prosody, is prayer.
SAMUEL BECKETTAll poetry, as discriminated from the various paradigms of prosody, is prayer.
SAMUEL BECKETTThe creation of the world did not take place once and for all time, but takes place every day.
SAMUEL BECKETTDo we mean love, when we say love?
SAMUEL BECKETTI have my faults, but changing my tune is not one of them.
SAMUEL BECKETTNothing is funnier than unhappiness, I grant you that. Yes, yes, it’s the most comical thing in the world.
SAMUEL BECKETTThere’s never an end for the sea.
SAMUEL BECKETTIf I was dead, I wouldn’t know I was dead. That’s the only thing I have against death. I want to enjoy my death.
SAMUEL BECKETTThere’s something dripping in my head. A heart, a heart in my head.
SAMUEL BECKETTTo restore silence is the role of objects.
SAMUEL BECKETTI marshalled the words and opened my mouth, thinking I would hear them. But all I heard was a kind of rattle, unintelligible even to me who knew what was intended.
SAMUEL BECKETTAll has not been said and never will be.
SAMUEL BECKETTWhat do we do now, now that we are happy?
SAMUEL BECKETTI use the words you taught me. If they don’t mean anything any more, teach me others. Or let me be silent.
SAMUEL BECKETTHe 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.
SAMUEL BECKETTThe end is in the beginning and yet you go on.
SAMUEL BECKETTI pause to record that I feel in extraordinary form. Delirium perhaps.
SAMUEL BECKETT