Samuel Beckett Quotes About Son

Browse 14 famous quotes of Samuel Beckett about Son.

"Vladimir, be reasonable, you haven't yet tried everything. And I resumed the struggle." ~ Samuel Beckett
"All I know is what the words know, and dead things, and that makes a handsome little sum, with a beginning and a middle and an end, as in the well-built phrase and the long sonata of the dead." ~ Samuel Beckett
"POZZO:Non piange più. (A Estragone) In un certo senso l'ha sostituito lei. (Pensieroso) Le lacrime del mondo sono immutabili. Non appena qualcuno si mette a piangere, qualcun altro, chissà dove, smette. E così per il riso. (Ride) Non diciamo troppo male, perciò, della nostra epoca; non è più disgraziata delle precedenti. (Pausa) Ma non diciamone neanche troppo bene. (Pausa) Non parliamone affatto. (Pausa) È vero, però, che la popolazione è aumentata." ~ Samuel Beckett
"Estragon:-¿Cuál es nuestro papel en este asunto?Vladimir:-¿Nuestro papel?Estragon:-Tómate tiempo.Vladimir:-¿Nuestro papel? El del suplicante.Estragon:-¿Hasta este extremo?Vladimir: ¿El señor tiene exigencias que hacer valer?Estragon:-¿Ya no tenemos derechos?(Risa de Vladimir, quien se reprime como antes. Mismos gestos, salvo la sonrisa)Vladimir:-Me harías reír si me estuviera permitido.Estragon:-¿Los hemos perdido?Vladimir (con claridad):-Los hemos vendido." ~ Samuel Beckett
"Onca zamandan sonra, günesli rüzgari sevenle rüzgarli günesi sevenin yeniden birlikte olmalari az sey mi dogrusu,az sey mi?" ~ Samuel Beckett
"The old thing where it always was, back again. As when a man, having found at last what he sought, a woman, for example, or a friend, loses it, or realises what it is. And yet it is useless not to seek, not to want, for when you cease to seek you start to find, and when you cease to want, then life begins to ram her fish and chips down your gullet until you puke, and then the puke down your gullet until you puke the puke, and then the puked puke until you begin to like it. The glutton castaway, the drunkard in the desert, the lecher in prison, they are the happy ones. To hunger, thirst, lust, every day afresh and every day in vain, after the old prog, the old booze, the old whores, that's the nearest we'll ever get to felicity, the new porch and the very latest garden. I pass on the tip for what it is worth." ~ Samuel Beckett
"Nous naissons tous fous. Quelques-uns le demeurent." ~ Samuel Beckett
"And truly it little matters what I say, this or that or any other thing. Saying is inventing. Wrong, very rightly wrong. You invent nothing, you think you are inventing, you think you are escaping, and all you do is stammer out your lesson, the remnants of a pensum one day got by heart and long forgotten, life without tears, as it is wept." ~ Samuel Beckett
"Given the existence as uttered forth in the public works of Puncher and Wattmann of a personal God quaquaquaquaquaquaqua with white beard quaquaquaquaquaqua outside time without extension who from the heights of divine apathia divine athambia divine aphasia loves us dearly with some exceptions for reasons unknown but time will tell and suffers like the divine Miranda with those who for reasons unknown but time will tell are plunged into torment plunged into fire whose fire flames if that continues and who can doubt it will fire the firmament that is to say blast hell to heaven so blue still and calm so calm with a calm which even though intermittent is better than nothing but not so fast and considering what is more that as a result of the labors left unfinished" ~ Samuel Beckett
"The words of the rose to the rose floated up in his mind: "No gardener has died, comma, within rosaceous memory." He sang a little song, he drank his bottle of stout, he dashed away a tear, he made himself comfortable. So it goes in the world." ~ Samuel Beckett
"Not one person in a hundred knows how to be silent and listen, no, nor even to conceive what such a thing means. Yet only then can you detect, beyond the fatuous clamour, the silence of which the universe is made." ~ Samuel Beckett
"I began playing with the cries, a little in the same way as I had played with the song, on, back, on, back, if that may be called playing. As long as I kept walking I didn't hear them, because of the footsteps. But as soon as I halted again I heard them again, a little fainter each time, admittedly, but what does it matter, faint or loud, cry is cry, all that matters is that it should cease. For years I thought they would cease. Now I don't think so any more. I could have done with other loves perhaps. But there it is, either you love or you don't." ~ Samuel Beckett
"And even my sense of identity was wrapped in a namelessness often hard to penetrate, as we have just seen I think…Yes, even then, when already all was fading, waves and particles, there could be no things but nameless things, no names but thingless names. I say that now, but after all what do I know now about then, now when the icy words hail down upon me, the icy meanings, and the world dies too, foully named. All I know is what the words know, and the dead things, and that makes a handsome little sum, with a beginning, a middle and an end as in the well-built phrase and the long sonata of the dead. And truly it little matters what I say, this or that or any other thing. Saying is inventing. Wrong, very rightly wrong. You invent nothing, you think you are inventing, you think you are escaping, and all you do is stammer out your lesson, the remnants of a pensum one day got by heart and long forgotten, life without tears, as it is wept. To hell with it anyway." ~ Samuel Beckett
"Let us do something, while we have the chance! It is not every day that we are needed. Not indeed that we personally are needed. Others would meet the case equally well, if not better. To all mankind they were addressed, those cries for help still ringing in our ears! But at this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is us, whether we like it or not. Let us make the most of it, before it is too late! Let us represent worthily for one the foul brood to which a cruel fate consigned us! What do you say? It is true that when with folded arms we weigh the pros and cons we are no less a credit to our species. The tiger bounds to the help of his congeners without the least reflexion, or else he slinks away into the depths of the thickets. But that is not the question. What are we doing here, that is the question. And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in the immense confusion one thing alone is clear. We are waiting for Godot to come --" ~ Samuel Beckett
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