The fact is, it seems, that the most you can hope is to be a little less, in the end, the creature you were in the beginning, and the middle. Samuel Beckett More Quotes by Samuel Beckett More Quotes From Samuel Beckett I am such a good man, at bottom, such a good man, how is it that nobody ever noticed it? Samuel Beckett good-mangoodnessmen Silence and darkness were all I craved. Well, I get a certain amount of both. They being one. Samuel Beckett certainsilencedarkness If by Godot I had meant God I would have said God, and not Godot. Samuel Beckett godotifssaid Words are all we have. Samuel Beckett And truly it little matters what I say, this or that or any other thing. Saying is inventing. Wrong, very rightly wrong. You invent nothing, you think you are inventing, you think you are escaping, and all you do is stammer out your lesson, the remnants of a pensum one day got by heart and long forgotten, life without tears, as it is wept. Samuel Beckett escapingheartthinking When the object is perceived as particular and unique and not merely the member of a family, when it appears independent of any general notion and detached from the sanity of a cause, isolated and inexplicable in the light of ignorance, then and only then may it be a source of enchantment. Samuel Beckett independentignoranceart That desert of loneliness and recrimination that men call love. Samuel Beckett lonelinesslovemen Finished, it's finished, nearly finished, it must be nearly finished. Grain upon grain, one by one, and one day, suddenly, there's a heap, a little heap, the impossible heap. I can't be punished any more. I'll go now to my kitchen, ten feet by ten feet by ten feet, and wait for him to whistle me. Nice dimensions, nice proportions, I'll lean on the table, and look at the wall, and wait for him to whistle me. Samuel Beckett wallnicefeet God is a witness that cannot be sworn. Samuel Beckett witness She felt, as she felt so often with Murphy, spattered with words that went dead as soon as they sounded; each word obliterated, before it had time to make sense, by the word that came next; so that in the end she did not know what had been said. It was like difficult music heard for the first time. Samuel Beckett nextendsfirsts How all becomes clear and simple when one opens an eye on the within, having of course previously exposed it to the without, in order to benefit by the contrast. Samuel Beckett eyesimpleorder I open the door of the cell and go. I am so bowed I only see my feet, if I open my eyes, and between my legs a little trail of black dust. I say to myself that the earth is extinguished, though I never saw it lit. Samuel Beckett cellseyedoors Art has always been this--pure interrogation, rhetorical question less the rhetoric--whatever else it may have been obliged by social reality to appear. Samuel Beckett literaturerealityart My life, my life, now I speak of it as of something over, now as of a joke which still goes on, and it is neither, for at the same time it is over and it goes on, and is there any tense for Samuel Beckett one-daygoes-onwatches My keepers, why keepers, I'm in no danger of stirring an inch, ah I see, it's to make me think I'm a prisoner, frantic with corporeality, rearing to get out and away. Samuel Beckett inchesdangerthinking To be an artist is to fail, as no other dare fail, that failure is his world and the shrink from desertion, art and craft, good housekeeping, living. Samuel Beckett craftsworldart Enough. Sudden enough. Sudden all far. No move and sudden all far. All least. Three pins. One pinhole. In dimmost dim. Vasts apart. At bounds of boundless void. Whence no farther. Best worse no farther. Nohow less. Nohow worse. Nohow naught. Nohow on. Samuel Beckett voidthreemoving The new light above my table is a great improvement. With all this darkness around me I feel less alone. (Pause.) In a way. (Pause.) I love to get up and move about in it, then back here to... (hesitates) ...me. (Pause.) Samuel Beckett lightdarknessmoving Dublin university contains the cream of Ireland: Rich and thick. Samuel Beckett ireland-and-the-irishhilariousfunny The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep, somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh. Samuel Beckett tearssomewhere-elselaughing
