Better hope deferred than none.
SAMUEL BECKETTAll life long, the same questions, the same answers.
More Samuel Beckett Quotes
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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 -
The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new.
SAMUEL BECKETT -
Don’t wait to be hunted to hide, that was always my motto.
SAMUEL BECKETT -
Habit is the ballast that chains the dog to his vomit.
SAMUEL BECKETT -
We have time to grow old. The air is full of our cries. But habit is a great deadener.
SAMUEL BECKETT -
Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness.
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Then I went back into the house and wrote, It is midnight. The rain is beating on the windows. It was not midnight. It was not raining.
SAMUEL BECKETT -
Nothing is funnier than unhappiness, I grant you that. Yes, yes, it’s the most comical thing in the world.
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Against the charitable gesture there is no defence.
SAMUEL BECKETT -
To have been always what I am – and so changed from what I was.
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I gave up before birth.
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Sometimes I wonder if I’m in my right mind. Then it passes off and I’m as intelligent as ever.
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Nothing is more real than nothing.
SAMUEL BECKETT -
The end is in the beginning and yet you go on.
SAMUEL BECKETT -
Go on failing. Go on. Only next time, try to fail better.
SAMUEL BECKETT -
What do we do now, now that we are happy?
SAMUEL BECKETT -
It was long since I had longed for anything and the effect on me was horrible.
SAMUEL BECKETT -
The day you die is just like any other, only shorter.
SAMUEL BECKETT -
Words are the clothes thoughts wear.
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To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now.
SAMUEL BECKETT -
Dear incomprehension, it’s thanks to you I’ll be myself, in the end.
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To every man his little cross. Till he dies. And is forgotten.
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But I was not made for the great light that devours, a dim lamp was all I had been given, and patience without end, to shine it on the empty shadows.
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If you don’t know where you are currently standing, you’re dead.
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Friendship, according to Proust, is the negation of that irremediable solitude to which every human being is condemned.
SAMUEL BECKETT -
Do we mean love, when we say love?
SAMUEL BECKETT