47 ordspråk av Samuel Beckett
Samuel Beckett
Personally I have no bone to pick with graveyards.
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That's how it is on this bitch of an earth
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The bastard! He doesn't exist!
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The speech we hear is an indication of that which we don't hear. It is a necessary avoidance, a violent, sly, and anguished or mocking smoke screen which keeps the other in its true place.
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The tears of the world are a constant quality. For each one who begins to weep, somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh.
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There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the fault of his feet.
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They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more
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To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now.
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To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now.
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Try again. Fail again. Fail better.
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We all are born mad. Some remain so.
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We are all born mad. Some remain so.
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We are not saints, but we have kept our appointment. How many people can boast as much?
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We lose our hair, our teeth! Our bloom, our ideals.
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What do I know of man's destiny? I could tell you more about radishes.
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