We should have thought of it when the world was young, in the nineties. Samuel Beckett More Quotes by Samuel Beckett More Quotes From Samuel Beckett 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 I did not want to write, but I had to resign myself to it in the end. Samuel Beckett endswantwriting It was long since I had longed for anything and the effect on me was horrible. Samuel Beckett effectshorriblelong I am still alive then. That may come in useful. Samuel Beckett alivestillsmay The search for the means to put an end to things, an end to speech, is what enables the discourse to continue. Samuel Beckett speechendsmean Deplorable mania, when something happens, to inquire what. Samuel Beckett maniathings-happenhappens It's so nice to know where you're going, in the early stages. It almost rids you of the wish to go there. Samuel Beckett stagenicewish I have always been amazed at my contemporaries’ lack of finesse, I whose soul writhed from morning to night, in the mere quest of itself. Samuel Beckett soulmorningnight Normally I didn’t see a great deal. I didn’t hear a great deal either. I didn’t pay attention. Strictly speaking I wasn’t there. Strictly speaking I believe I’ve never been anywhere. Samuel Beckett payattentionbelieve Yes, I dont know why, but I have never been disappointed, and I often was in the early days, without feeling at the same time, or a moment later, an undeniable relief. Samuel Beckett relieffeelingstime Poets are the sense, philosophers the intelligence of humanity. Samuel Beckett philosopherpoethumanity Already all confusion. Things and imaginings. As of always. Confusion amounting to nothing. Despite precautions. If only she could be pure figment. Unalloyed. This old so dying woman. So dead. In the madhouse of the skull and nowhere else. Where no more precautions to be taken. No precautions possible. Cooped up there with the rest. Hovel and stones. The lot. And the eye. How simple all then. If only all could be pure figment. Neither be nor been nor by any shift to be. Gently gently. On. Careful. Samuel Beckett eyetakensimple I pause to record that I feel in extraordinary form. Delirium perhaps. Samuel Beckett deliriumrecordsform I 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 Beckett kindmouthsthinking The short winter’s day was drawing to a close. It seems to me sometimes that these are the only days I have ever known, and especially that most charming moment of all, just before night Samuel Beckett drawingwinternight Yes, there is no denying it, any longer, it is not you who are dead, but all the others. So you get up and go to your mother, who thinks she is alive. That's my impression. But now I shall have to get myself out of this ditch. How joyfully I would vanish here, sinking deeper and deeper under the rains. Samuel Beckett motherrainthinking They never lynch children, babies, no matter what they do they are whitewashed in advance. Samuel Beckett matterbabychildren The confusion is not my invention. We cannot listen to a conversation for five minutes without being aware of the confusion. It is all around us and our only chance now is to let it in. The only chance of renovation is to open our eyes and see the mess. It is not a mess you can make sense of. Samuel Beckett confusionchanceeye Friendship, according to Proust, is the negation of that irremediable solitude to which every human being is condemned. Samuel Beckett negationproustsolitude And all these questions I ask myself. It is not in a spirit of curiosity. I cannot be silent. About myself I need know nothing. Here all is clear. No, all is not clear. But the discourse must go on. So one invents obscurities. Rhetoric. Samuel Beckett curiosityknowledgethinking
