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Habit is the ballast that chains the dog to his vomit.

Samuel Beckett

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

Home Myself Rain Window Writing
Friendship, according to Proust, is the negation of that irremediable solitude to which every human being is condemned.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Friendship Human Solitude
The whisky bears a grudge against the decanter.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Alcohol Grudge Whiskey
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
I have my faults, but changing my tune is not one of them.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Change Mistake Myself
If there is one question I dread, to which I have never been able to invent a satisfactory reply, it is the question what am I doing.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Fear Invention Myself Question
If 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 BECKETT

Death Enjoyment Myself
The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Boredom Choice Nature Shine Sun
Poets are the sense, philosophers the intelligence of humanity.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Humanity Intelligence Philosophy Poet
But at this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is us, whether we like it or not. Let us make the most of it, before it is too late!
SAMUEL BECKETT

Moments Place Time
Better hope deferred than none.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Better Choice Hope
You’re on earth. There’s no cure for that.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Cure Earth One Liner
I pause to record that I feel in extraordinary form. Delirium perhaps.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Feeling Myself Record
Birth was the death of him.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Born Death Deep Himself One Liner
Any fool can turn a blind eye but who knows what the ostrich sees in the sand.
SAMUEL BECKETT

Blind Eyes Fools See
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

Habit is the ballast that chains the dog to his vomit.

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Habit is the ballast that chains the dog to his vomit.

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