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

Samuel Beckett

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. No, I wouldn’t want them back.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Best Chance Fire Happiness Myself
I tried to groan, Help! Help! But the tone that came out was that of polite conversation.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Conversation Myself Polite Try
Poets are the sense, philosophers the intelligence of humanity.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Humanity Intelligence Philosophy Poet
I could not have gone through the awful wretched mess of life without having left a stain upon the silence.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Hard Time Mess Myself Silence Stain
The day you die is just like any other, only shorter.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Day Death Normal Short Yourself
Memories are killing. So you must not think of certain things, of those that are dear to you, or rather you must think of them, for if you don’t there is the danger of finding them, in your mind, little by little.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Dangerous Kill Memories Mindset Thinking Yourself
To every man his little cross. Till he dies. And is forgotten.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Death Forget Man
In my head there are several windows, that I do know, but perhaps it is always the same one, open variously on the parading universe.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Head Myself Universe Window
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.
SAMUEL BECKETT

End Enough Forever Wait Wasted Time
Yes, in my life, since we must call it so, there were three things, the inability to speak, the inability to be silent, and solitude, that’s what I’ve had to make the best of.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Ability Best Life Myself Silence Talk
What do I know of man’s destiny? I could tell you more about radishes.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Destiny Fate Man Myself
Love, that is all I asked, a little love, daily, twice daily, fifty years of twice daily love like a Paris horse-butcher’s regular, what normal woman wants affection?
SAMUEL BECKETT

Affection Love Myself Normal Woman
People are bloody ignorant apes.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Animal Blood Ignorance People Reality
Friendship, according to Proust, is the negation of that irremediable solitude to which every human being is condemned.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Friendship Human Solitude
Against the charitable gesture there is no defence.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Charity Defense
All mankind is us, whether we like it or not.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Connection Existence Kind Man Spiritual

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

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

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