I hope I am not too old to take it up seriously, nor too stupid about machines to qualify as a commercial pilot. I do not feel like spending the rest of my life writing books that no one will read. It is not as though I wanted to write them. *1937

Samuel Beckett

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Terrible mania, when something happens, to enquire what.

Samuel Beckett

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Estragon: I'm like that. Either I forget right away or I never forget.

Samuel Beckett

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How hideous is the semicolon.

Samuel Beckett

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The creation of the world did not take place once and for all time, but takes place every day.

Samuel Beckett

Mots clés creation

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You cried for night - it falls. Now cry in darkness.

Samuel Beckett

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Was I sleeping, while the others suffered? Am I sleeping now? Tomorrow, when I wake, or think I do, what shall I say of today? That with Estragon my friend, at this place, until the fall of night, I waited for Godot? That Pozzo passed, with his carrier, and that he spoke to us? Probably. But in all that what truth will there be? He'll know nothing. He'll tell me about the blows he received and I'll give him a carrot. (pause) Astride of a grave and a difficult birth. Down in the hole, lingeringly, the grave digger puts on the forceps. We have time to grow old. The air is full of our cries. But habit is a great deadener. At me too someone is looking, of me too someone is saying, He is sleeping, he knows nothing, let him sleep on. (Pause.) I can't go on! (Pause.) What have I said?

Samuel Beckett

Mots clés godot grave vladimir

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Let's go." "We can't." "Why not?" "We're waiting for Godot.

Samuel Beckett

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It is to be hoped the time will come, thank God, in some circles it already has, when language is best used where it is most efficiently abused. Since we cannot dismiss it all at once, at least we do not want to leave anything undone that may contribute to its disrepute. To drill one hole after another into it until that which lurks behind, be it something or nothing, starts seeping through - I cannot imagine a higher goal for today's writer.

Samuel Beckett

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That's what hell must be like, small chat to the babbling of Lethe about the
good old days when we wished we were dead.

Samuel Beckett

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