They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more.
Samuel BeckettThey never lynch children, babies, no matter what they do they are whitewashed in advance.
Samuel BeckettI speak for an art ... weary of its puny exploits, weary of pretending to be able, of being able, of doing a little better the same old thing, of going a little further along a dreary road.
Samuel BeckettI still smile it's not worth the trouble any more for a long time now it's not been worth the trouble the tongue spring goes into the mud I stay like this not thirsty any more the tongue goes back into the mouth it closes it has to make a straight line now it's done I've made the image.
Samuel Beckett