We wait. We are bored. (He throws up his hand.) No, don't protest, we are bored to death, there's no denying it.… — Samuel Beckett Copy Share Image
My notes have a curious tendency, as I realize at last, to annihilate all they purport to record. — Samuel Beckett Copy Share Image
“...nothing ever as much as begun, nothing ever but nothing and never, nothing ever but lifeless words.” — Samuel Beckett Copy Share Image
Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness. — Samuel Beckett Copy Share Image
“It was December, I had never felt so cold, the eel soup lay heavy on my stomach, I was afraid I'd die, I turned… — Samuel Beckett Copy Share
“You may say it is all in my head, and indeed sometimes it seems to me I am in a head and that these… — Samuel Beckett Copy Share
“Here he stood. Here he sat. Here he knelt. Here he lay. Here he moved, to and fro, from the door to the window,… — Samuel Beckett Copy Share
What are we doing here, that is the question. And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in… — Samuel Beckett Copy Share
I shall state silences more competently than ever a better man spangled the butterflies of vertigo. — Samuel Beckett Copy Share
It is useless not to seek, not to want, for when you cease to seek you start to find, and when you cease to… — Samuel Beckett Copy Share
We are not saints, but we have kept our appointment. How many people can boast as much? — Samuel Beckett Copy Share
The new light above my table is a great improvement. With all this darkness around me I feel less alone. (Pause.) In a way.… — Samuel Beckett Copy Share
I lay down across her with my face in her breasts and my hand on her. We lay there without moving. But under us… — Samuel Beckett Copy Share
Women are all the bloody sameyou can't love for five minutes without wanting it abolished in brats and house bloody wifery. — Samuel Beckett Copy Share
“ESTRAGON: Do you think God sees me? VLADIMIR: You must close your eyes. Estragon closes his eyes, staggers worse. ESTRAGON: (stopping, brandishing his fists,… — Samuel Beckett Copy Share
