“I'm all these words, all these strangers, this dust of words, with no ground for their settling, no sky for their dispersing, coming together to say, fleeing one another to say, that I am they, all of them, those that… — Samuel Beckett Copy Share Image
“The sensation of the seat of a chair coming together with his drooping posteriors at last was so delicious that he rose at once and repeated the sit, lingeringly and with intense concentration. Murphy did not so often meet with… — 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
