Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.— Samuel Beckett
The most sensitive Samuel Beckett quotes that will be huge advantage for your personal development
There's never an end for the sea.
The creation of the world did not take place once and for all time, but takes place every day.
Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail Better.
We are all born mad. Some remain so.
If you don't know where you are currently standing, you're dead.
Nothing is more real than nothing.
Dear incomprehension, it's thanks to you I'll be myself, in the end.
No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.
I tried to groan, Help! Help! But the tone that came out was that of polite conversation.
That's what hell must be like, small chat to the babbling of Lethe about the good old days when we wished we were dead.
How time flies when one has fun!
The end is in the beginning and yet you go on.
Nothing is funnier than unhappiness, I grant you that.
Yes, yes, it's the most comical thing in the world.
The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new.
We wait. We are bored. (He throws up his hand.) No, don't protest, we are bored to death, there's no denying it. Good. A diversion comes along and what do we do? We let it go to waste. Come, let's get to work! (He advances towards the heap, stops in his stride.) In an instant all will vanish and we'll be alone more, in the midst of nothingness!
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.
All life long, the same questions, the same answers.
Any fool can turn a blind eye but who knows what the ostrich sees in the sand.
Dance first. Think later. It's the natural order.
What do I know of man's destiny? I could tell you more about radishes.
Vladimir: Did I ever leave you? Estragon: You let me go.
To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now.
Go on failing. Go on. Only next time, try to fail better.
Nothing is funnier than unhappiness, I grant you that… Yes, yes, it's the most comical thing in the world. And we laugh, we laugh, with a will, in the beginning. But it's always the same thing. Yes, it's like the funny story we have heard too often, we still find it funny, but we don't laugh any more.
But what matter whether I was born or not, have lived or not, am dead or merely dying. I shall go on doing as I have always done, not knowing what it is I do, nor who I am, nor where I am, nor if I am.
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!
The Tuesday scowls, the Wednesday growls, the Thursday curses, the Friday howls, the Saturday snores, the Sunday yawns, the Monday morns, the Monday morns. The whacks, the moans, the cracks, the groans, the welts, the squeaks, the belts, the shrieks, the pricks, the prayers, the kicks, the tears, the skelps, and the yelps.
There's something dripping in my head. A heart, a heart in my head.
In my head there are several windows, that I do know, but perhaps it is always the same one, open variously on the parading universe.
Not to want to say, not to know what you want to say, not to be able to say what you think you want to say, and never to stop saying, or hardly ever, that is the thing to keep in mind, even in the heat of composition.
What are we doing here, that is the question.
And what I have, what I am, is enough, was always enough for me, and as far as my dear little sweet little future is concerned I have no qualms, I have a good time coming.
Then I went back into the house and wrote, It is midnight.
The rain is beating on the windows. It was not midnight. It was not raining.
Habit is the ballast that chains the dog to his vomit.
The whisky bears a grudge against the decanter.
It sometimes happens and will sometimes happen again that I forget who I am and strut before my eyes, like a stranger.
I shall state silences more competently than ever a better man spangled the butterflies of vertigo.
Imagination at wit's end spreads its sad wings.
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
The pendulum oscillates between these two terms: Suffering-that opens a window on the real and is the main condition of the artistic experience, and Boredom ... that must be considered as the most tolerable because the most durable of human evils.
Yes, in my life, since we must call it so, there were three things, the inability to speak, the inability to be silent, and solitude, that’s what I’ve had to make the best of.
We are not saints, but we have kept our appointment. How many people can boast as much?
We spend our life, it's ours, trying to bring together in the same instant a ray of sunshine and a free bench
Estragon: What about hanging ourselves? Vladimir: Hmm. It'd give us an erection.
Unfathomable mind, now beacon, now sea.
There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the fault of his feet.
James Joyce was a synthesizer, trying to bring in as much as he could.
I am an analyzer, trying to leave out as much as I can.
Mysterious affair, electricity.
We have time to grow old. The air is full of our cries. But habit is a great deadener.
Let us do something, while we have the chance! .
.. 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!