“Henry: I usen't to need anyone, just to myself, stories, there was a great one about an old fellow called Bolton, I… — Samuel Beckett Copy Share Image
The reality of the individualis an incoherent reality and must be expressed incoherently. — Samuel Beckett Copy Share Image
I have nothing but wastes and wilds of self-translation before me for many miserable months to come. — Samuel Beckett Copy Share Image
“But even them, my pains, I understand ill. That must come from my not being all pain and nothing else. There's the… — Samuel Beckett Copy Share Image
Perhaps that's what I feel, an outside and an inside and me in the middle, perhaps that's what I am, the thing… — Samuel Beckett Copy Share Image
I, of whom I know nothing, I know my eyes are open, because of the tears that pour from them unceasingly. — 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
