Art has nothing to do with clarity, does not dabble in the clear and does not make clear — Samuel Beckett Copy Share Image
The time is perhaps not altogether too green for the vile suggestion that art has nothing to do with clarity, does not dabble in the clear and does not make clear, and more than the light of day (or night)… — 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
