I have nothing but wastes and wilds of self-translation before me for many miserable months to come.
Nothing is funnier than unhappiness, I grant you thatâ€¦ 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 m
Do they [the publishers of Murphy] not understand that if the book is slightly obscure it is because it is a compression and thatto compress it further can only make it more obscure?
We spend our life, it's ours, trying to bring together in the same instant a ray of sunshine and a free bench
All life long, the same questions, the same answers.
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
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.
It's a lot to ask of one creature, it's a lot to ask, that he should first behave as if he were not, then as if he were, before being admitted to that peace where he neither is, nor is not, and where the language dies that permits of such expressions.
The end of a life is always vivifying.
What goes by the name of love is banishment, with now and then a postcard from the homeland, such is my considered opinion, this evening.
If there is one question I dread, to which I have never been able to invent a satisfactory reply, it is the question what am I doing.
What are we doing here, that is the question.
Habit is a compromise effected between an individual and his environment.
Personally I have no bone to pick with graveyards, I take the air there willingly, perhaps more willingly than elsewhere, when take the air I must.
I asked her to look at me and after a few moments - (pause) - after a few moments she did, but the eyes just slits, because of the glare I bent over her to get them in the shadow and they opened. (Pause. Low) Let me in.
No painting is more replete than Mondrian's.
Estragon: I'm like that. Either I forget right away or I never forget.
The fact would seem to be, if in my situation one may speak of facts, not only that I shall have to speak of things of which I cannot speak, but also, which is even more interesting, but also that I, which is if possible even more interesting, that I shall have to, I forget, no matter. And at the sa
Reality, whether approached imaginatively or empirically, remains a surface, hermetic.
As it is with the love of the body, so with the friendship of the mind, the full is only reached by admittance to the most retired places.
The sky sinks in the morning, this fact has been insufficiently observed.
When a man in a forest thinks he is going forward in a straight line, in reality he is going in a circle, I did my best to go in a circle, hoping to go in a straight line.
I donâ€™t like animals. Itâ€™s a strange thing, I donâ€™t like men and I donâ€™t like animals. As for God, he is beginning to disgust me.
Personally of course I regret everything. Not a word, not a deed, not a thought, not a need, not a grief, not a joy, not a girl, not a boy, not a doubt, not a trust, not a scorn, not a lust, not a hope, not a fear, not a smile, not a tear, not a name, not a face, no time, no place...that I do not re
I have my faults, but changing my tune is not one of them. Samuel Becket
That's the mistake I made, one of the mistakes, to have wanted a story for myself, whereas life alone is enough.
I use the words you taught me. If they don't mean anything any more, teach me others. Or let me be silent.
To restore silence is the role of objects.
Dear incomprehension, it's thanks to you I'll be myself, in the end.
We have time to grow old. The air is full of our cries. But habit is a great deadener.