Samuel Beckett II

We are all born mad. Some remain so.

Dance first. Think later. It's the natural order.

All of old. Nothing else ever. Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.

You're on Earth. There's no cure for that.

The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh.

Try again. Fail again. Fail better.

I can't go on, I'll go on.

Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness.

My mistakes are my life.

The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new.

Don't touch me! Don't question me! Don't speak to me! Stay with me!

The end is in the beginning and yet you go on.

The earth makes a sound as of sighs and the last drops fall from the emptied cloudless sky. A small boy, stretching out his hands and looking up at the blue sky, asked his mother how such a thing was possible. Fuck off, she said.