47 ordspråk av Samuel Beckett
Samuel Beckett
Absolute virtue is as sure to kill a man as absolute vice is, let alone the dullness of it and the pomposities of it
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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.
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Birth was the death of him.
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Dublin university contains the cream of Ireland: Rich and thick.
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Enough of acting the infant who has been told so often how he was found under a cabbage that in the end he remembers the exact spot in the garden and the kind of life he led there before joining the family circle
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Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.
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Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness
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For why be discouraged, one of thieves was saved, that is a generous percentage.
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Go on failing. Go on. Only next time, try to fail better.
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Go on failing. Go on. Only next time, try to fail better.
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Habit is a great deadener.
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How can one better magnify the Almighty than by sniggering with him at his little jokes, particularly the poorer ones.
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I can't go on. I'll go on.
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I could not distinguish one modern work of art from another, but he taught me the difference between surrealism, cubism and abstract art,
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I have my faults, but changing my tune is not one of them.
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