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Author Info:

Type: Playwright
Nationality: Irish
Date of Birth: 04/13/1906




 

Samuel Beckett Quotes

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No, I regret nothing, all I regret is having been born, dying is such a long tiresome business I always found.
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I write about myself with the same pencil and in the same exercise book as about him. It is no longer I, but another whose life is just beginning.
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Poets are the sense, philosophers the intelligence of humanity.
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In the landscape of extinction, precision is next to godliness.
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The tears of the world are a constant quality. For each one who begins to weep, somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh.
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Nothing is funnier than unhappiness, I grant you that. Yes, yes, it's the most comical thing in the world.
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I shall state silences more competently than ever a better man spangled the butterflies of vertigo.
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All I know is what the words know, and dead things, and that makes a handsome little sum, with a beginning and a middle and an end, as in the well-built phrase and the long sonata of the dead.
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That's how it is on this bitch of an earth.
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I have my faults, but changing my tune is not one of them.
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What do I know of man's destiny? I could tell you more about radishes.
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Just under the surface I shall be, all together at first, then separate and drift, through all the earth and perhaps in the end through a cliff into the sea, something of me. A ton of worms in an acre, that is a wonderful thought, a ton of worms, I believe it.
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Let me go to hell, that's all I ask, and go on cursing them there, and them look down and hear me, that might take some of the shine off their bliss.
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We are all born mad. Some remain so.
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Habit is a great deadener.
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Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.
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Do we mean love, when we say love?
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To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now.
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Personally I have no bone to pick with graveyards.
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Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness.
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Dublin university contains the cream of Ireland: Rich and thick.
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Birth was the death of him.
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They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more.
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I can't go on. I'll go on.
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Nothing matters but the writing. There has been nothing else worthwhile... a stain upon the silence.
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