If they give me the bloody prize, why can't they say nice things about me?

And indeed nothing had happened, a momentous nothing, just another of the great world's shrugs of indifference.

All a work of art can do is present the surface. I can't know the insides of people. I know very little about the inside of myself.

I dont know if there is a personal identity. We all imagine that we are absolute individuals. But when we begin to look for where this individuality resides, its very difficult to find.

Throughout the 1960s and 1970s devoted Beckett readers greeted each successively shorter volume from the master with a mixture of awe and apprehensiveness; it was like watching a great mathematician wielding an infinitesimal calculus, his equations approaching nearer and still nearer to the null point.

We artists love to talk tough, but we're just as sentimental as everyone else when it comes down to it.

I'm full of self-doubt. I doubt everything I do. Everything I do is a failure.