The short winter’s day was drawing to a close. It seems to me sometimes that these are the only days I have… — Samuel Beckett Copy Share Image
Have you not done tormenting me with your accursed time! It's abominable! When! When! One day, is that not enough for you,… — Samuel Beckett Copy Share Image
They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more. — 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… — Samuel Beckett Copy Share Image
I have always been amazed at my contemporaries’ lack of finesse, I whose soul writhed from morning to night, in the mere… — 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 Image
“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 Image
“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 Image
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 Image
I shall state silences more competently than ever a better man spangled the butterflies of vertigo. — Samuel Beckett Copy Share Image
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 Image
We are not saints, but we have kept our appointment. How many people can boast as much? — Samuel Beckett Copy Share Image
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 Image
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 Image
