Watt Samuel Beckett Quotes

The Tuesday scowls, the Wednesday growls, the Thursday curses, the Friday howls, the Saturday snores, the Sunday yawns, the Monday morns, the Monday morns. The whacks, the moans, the cracks, the groans, the welts, the squeaks, the belts, the shrieks, the pricks, the prayers, the kicks, the tears, the skelps, and the yelps.

Personally of course I regret everything. Not a word, not a deed, not a thought, not a need, not a grief, not a joy, not a girl, not a boy, not a doubt, not a trust, not a scorn, not a lust, not a hope, not a fear, not a smile, not a tear, not a name, not a face, no time, no place...that I do not regret, exceedingly. An ordure, from beginning to end.

No symbols where none intended.

But he had turned, little by little, a disturbance into words, he had made a pillow of old words, for his head.

We are no longer the same, you wiser but not sadder, and I sadder but not wiser, for wiser I could hardly become without grave personal inconvenience, whereas sorrow is a thing you can keep adding to all your life long, is it not, like a stamp or an egg collection, without feeling very much the worse for it, is it not.

It is useless not to seek, not to want, for when you cease to seek you start to find, and when you cease to want, then life begins to ram her fish and chips down your gullet until you puke, and then the puke down your gullet until you puke the puke, and then the puked puke until you begin to like it.

To be together again, after so long, who love the sunny wind, the windy sun, in the sun, in the wind, that is perhaps something, perhaps something.

Here he stood. Here he sat. Here he knelt. Here he lay. Here he moved, to and fro, from the door to the window, from the window to the door; from the window to the door, from the door to the window; from the fire to the bed, from the bed to the fire; from the bed to the fire, from the fire to the bed.

Then a moment passed and all was changed.

So to every man, soon or late, comes envy of the fly, with all the long joys of summer before it.

Having oscillated all his life between the torments of a superficial loitering and the horrors of disinterested endeavour, he finds himself at last in a situation where to do nothing exclusively would be an act of the highest value, and significance.

dead calm, then a murmur, a name, a murmured name, in doubt, in fear, in love, in fear, in doubt, wind of winter in the black boughs, cold calm sea whitening whispering to the shore, stealing, hastening, swelling, passing, dying, from naught come, to naught gone

Think of that! He removes his hat without misgiving, he unbuttons his coat and sits down, proffered all pure and open to the long joys of being himself, like a basin to a vomit.

For what is this shadow of the going in which we come, this shadow of the coming in which we go, this shadow of the coming and the going in which we wait, if not the shadow of purpose, of the purpose that budding withers, that withering buds, whose blooming is a budding withering.

Onca zamandan sonra, güneşli rüzgarı sevenle rüzgarlı güneşi sevenin yeniden birlikte olmaları az şey mi doğrusu,az şey mi?

And Watt's need of semantic succour was at times so great that he would set to trying names on things, and on himself, almost as a woman hats.

The old thing where it always was, back again. As when a man, having found at last what he sought, a woman, for example, or a friend, loses it, or realises what it is. And yet it is useless not to seek, not to want, for when you cease to seek you start to find, and when you cease to want, then life begins to ram her fish and chips down your gullet until you puke, and then the puke down your gullet until you puke the puke, and then the puked puke until you begin to like it. The glutton castaway, the drunkard in the desert, the lecher in prison, they are the happy ones. To hunger, thirst, lust, every day afresh and every day in vain, after the old prog, the old booze, the old whores, that's the nearest we'll ever get to felicity, the new porch and the very latest garden. I pass on the tip for what it is worth.

For the only way one can speak of nothing is to speak of it as though it were something, just as the only way one can speak of God is to speak of him as though he were a man, which to be sure he was, in a sense, for a time, and as the only way one can speak of man, even our anthropologists have realised that, is to speak of him as though he were a termite.

Bütün bu şeyler, bazı şeylerin hiçbir anlam taşımamayı sürdürdükleri gibi hiçbir anlam taşımasalar yani sonuna dek anlamsızlıkta direnseler, asla söz edilemezdi bunlardan. Çünkü hiçten söz etmenin tek yolu ondan sanki bir şeymişçesine söz etmektir.

But we know that we are no longer the same, and not only know that we are no longer the same, but know in what we are no longer the same, you wiser but not sadder, and I sadder but not wiser, for wiser I could hardly become without grave personal inconvenience, whereas sorrow is a thing you can keep on adding to all your life long, is it not, like a stamp or egg collection

And for what I have done ill and for what I have done well and for what I have left undone, I ask you to forgive me. And I ask you to think of me always--bugger these buttons--with forgiveness, as you desire to be thought of with forgiveness, though personally of course it is all the same to me whether I am thought of with forgiveness, or with rancour, or not at all. Good night.

Of all the laughs that strictly speaking are not laughs, but modes of ululation, only three I think need detain us, I mean the bitter, the hollow and the mirthless. They correspond to successive… how shall I say successive… suc… successive excoriations of the understanding, and the passage from the one to the other is the passage from the lesser to the greater, from the lower to the higher, from the outer to the inner, from the gross to the fine, from the matter to the form. The laugh that now is mirthless once was hollow, the laugh that once was hollow once was bitter. And the laugh that once was bitter? Eyewater, Mr. Watt, eyewater. But do not let us waste our time with that. . . . The bitter, the hollow and—Haw! Haw!— the mirthless. The bitter laugh laughs at that which is not good, it is the ethical laugh. The hollow laugh laughs at that which is not true, it is the intellectual laugh. Not good! Not true! Well well. But the mirthless laugh is the dianoetic laugh, down the snout—Haw!—so. It is the laugh of laughs, the risus purus, the laugh laughing at the laugh, the beholding, the saluting of the highest joke, in a word the laugh that laughs—silence please—at that which is unhappy”.

To think, when one is no longer young, when one is not yet old, that one is no longer young, that one is not yet old, that is perhaps something. To pause, towards the close of one's three hour day, and consider: the darkening ease, the brightening trouble; the pleasure pleasure because it was, the pain pain because it shall be; the glad acts grown proud, the proud acts growing stubborn; the panting the trembling towards a being gone, a being to come; and the true true no longer, and the false true not yet. And to decide not to smile after all, sitting in the shade, hearing the cicadas, wishing it were night, wishing it were morning, saying, No, it is not the heart, no, it is not the liver, no, it is not the prostate, no it is not the ovaries, no, it is muscular, it is nervous. Then the gnashing ends, or it goes on, and one is in the pit, in the hollow, the longing for longing gone, the horror of horror, and one is in the hollow, at the foot of all the hills at last, the ways down, the ways up, and free, free at last, for an instant free at last, nothing at last.

I don't think I recognize you, sir, said Camier. I am Watt, said Watt. As you say, I'm unrecognizable. Watt? said Camier. The name means nothing to me. I am not widely know, said Watt, true, but I shall be, one day. Not universally, perhaps, my notoriety is not likely ever to penetrate to the denizens of Dublin's fair city, or of Cuq-Toulza.

So it is with time, that lightens what is dark, that darkens what is light.

This was indeed a merciful coincidence, was it not, that at the moment of Watt's losing sight of the ground floor, he lost interest in it also.

And Watt preferred on the whole having to do with things of which he did not know the name, though this too was painful to Watt, to having to do with things of which the known name, the proven name, was not the name, any more, for him. For he could always hope, of a thing of which he had never known the name, that he would learn the name, some day, and so be tranquilized.

It is by the nadir that we come, said Watt, and it is by the nadir that we go, whatever that means. And the artist must have felt something of this kind too, for the circle did not turn, as circles will, but sailed steadfast in its white skies, with its patient breach for ever below.

It is so easy to accept, so easy to refuse, when the call is heard, so easy, so easy. But to us, in our windowlessness, in our bloodheat, in our hush, to us who could not hear the wind, nor see the sun, what call could come, from the kind of weather we liked, but a call so faint as to mock acceptance, mock refusal?

The irony of life! Of life in love! That he who has the time should lack the force, that she who has the force should lack the time! That a trifling and in all probability tractable obstruction of some endocrinal Bandusia, that a mere matter of forty-five or fifty minutes by the clock, should as effectively as death itself, or as the Hellespont, separate lovers.

But he had hardly felt the absurdity of those things, on the one hand, and the necessity of those others, on the other (for it is rare that the feeling of absurdity is not followed by the feeling of necessity), when he felt the the absurdity of those things of which he had just felt the necessity (for it is rare that the feeling of necessity is not followed by the feeling of absurdity).

And he said also, by way of a rider, that even if he had the whole night before him, in which to rest, and grow warm, on a chair, in the kitchen, even then it would be a poor resting, and a mean warming, beside the rest and warmth that he remembered, the rest and warmth that he awaited, a very poor resting indeed, and a paltry warming, and so in any case very likely a source, in the long run, less of gratification, than of annoyance.

And is it not strange most strange that one says of a thing that it is full, when it is not full at all, but not of a thing that is empty, if it is not empty? And perhaps the reason for that is this, that when one fills, one seldom fills quite full, for that would not be convenient, whereas when one empties one empties completely, holding the vessel upside down, and rinsing it out with boiling water if necessary, with a kind of fury.

For the new year says nothing new, to the man fixed in space.

Mr. Hackett turned the corner and saw, in the failing light, at some distance, his seat. It seemed to be occupied. This seat, the property very likely of the municipality, or of the public, was of course not his, but he thought of it as his.

For the only way one can speak of nothing is to speak of it as though it were something, just as the only way one can speak of God is to speak of him as though he were a man, which to be sure he was, in a sense, for a time, and as the only way one can speak of a man, even our anthropologists have realised that, is to speak of him as though he were a termite.

No symbols where none intended

Daha çok uluma diye nitelendirebileceklerimi bir yana bırakırsam bence üç tür gülüşün üzerinde durmaya değer; yani acı, zorlama ve neşesiz olanların üzerinde. Bu gülüşleri -nasıl söylesem?- usumuzda art arda oluşan sıyrıklara, çiziklere benzetebiliriz. Birinden ötekine geçişi de azdan çoğa, alçaktan yükseğe, dıştan içe, kabadan inceye, özdekten biçime geçişe. Bugünkü neşesiz gülüş bir zamanlar zorlamaydı, bugünkü zorlama gülüş bir zamanlar acıydı. Ya bugünkü acı gülüş bir zamanlar neydi? Gözyaşlarıydı Bay Watt, gözyaşlarıydı.

Ama tuhaf değil mi, bir şeye tamamen dolu olmadığında dolu denirken, bu şey boş değilken boş denmemesi çok tuhaf değil mi?

Watt'ın başka bir koğuşa verilmesinden sonra yeniden karşılaşmamıza kadar belli bir süre geçti. Her zamanki gibi, yani sevdiğim havanın çağrısına uyduğum zamanlardaki gibi bahçemde dolaşıyordum. Watt da benzer biçimde kendi bahçesinde dolaşıyordu. Ama artık aynı bahçe söz konusu olmadığı için karşılaşamıyorduk. Bu yeni karşılaşma, sonunda ileride betimleneceği gibi gerçekleştiğinde, her ikimiz de; Watt da ben de bunu arzulasak, çok daha önce karşılaşabileceğimizi anladık. Ama işte bizde eksik olan karşılaşma arzusuydu. Watt benimle karşılaşmak istemiyordu, ben de Watt ile karşılaşmak istemiyordum. Gerçekten de birbirimizle bir araya gelmek, yeniden dolaşmak ve laflamak düşüncesi düşmanca gelmiyordu bize, hayır, ilgisi yok, yalnızca Watt da ben de buna istekli değildik.

Ama anlama duyulan bu ilgisizlik içinde bu anlam arayışı da ne oluyordu?

Watt'ın zemin kattaki yaşantısının sonlarına doğru bir gün telefon çaldı ve bir ses Bay Knott'un sağlığının nasıl olduğunu sordu. Kuşkusuz biri dalga geçiyordu. Ses bundan başka, Bir dost, dedi. İnce bir erkek sesi ya da kalın bir kadın sesiydi. Watt bu olayı aşağıdaki gibi yorumladı: Cinsiyeti belirsiz bir dostu Bay Knott'un sağlını öğrenmek için telefonla aradı. Bu yorum çok geçmeden tutarsız bir hal aldı. Ama Watt'ın bunu tutarlılığa ulaştıracak gücü kalmamıştı. Watt'ın kendini daha fazla yormaya cesareti yoktu. Kaç kez meydan okumuştu, kendini şu daha fazla yorma tehlikesine. Meydan okuyorum, demişti, meydan okuyorum ve tutarlılığa kavuşturma çabalarına girmişti. Ama şimdi yapamıyordu artık. Watt artık yorulmuştu zemin katta, zemin kat Watt'ı iyice yormuştu. Ne öğrenmişti? Hiç! Bay Knott hakkında ne biliyordu? Hiç! Gelişmek kaygısından, öğrenmek kaygısından, iyileşmek kaygısından geriye ne kalmıştı? Hiç! Ama bu da bir şey sayılmaz mıydı? O zaman kendini öylesine küçülmüş, öylesine umutsuz görüyordu. Ya şimdi? Daha küçülmüş, daha umutsuz. Bu da bir şey sayılmaz mıydı? Öylesine sayrılı, öylesine yalnız. Ya şimdi? Daha sayrılı, daha yalnız. Bu da bir şey sayılmaz mıydı? Fazlalık bir şey sayıldığına göre. Olumluluk açısından az olsun, çok olsun. En üstün olma açısından az olsun, çok olsun.

What distressed Watt … was not so much that he did not know what happened, for he did not care what had happened, as that nothing had happened, that a thing that was nothing had happened, with the utmost formal distinctness, and that it continued to happen, in his mind, he supposed, though he did not know exactly what that meant, and though it seemed to be outside him, before him, about him, and so on.

Watt is possessed by this incident, described as ‘a thing that was nothing had happened’. It continues to haunt him and does not stop tormenting him, for he cannot accept that ‘a thing that was nothing had happened’.

Goff rejoined them, very cross. I recognized him at once, he said. He made use, with reference to Watt, of an expression that we shall not record. For the past seven years, he said, he owes me five shillings, that is to say, six and ninepence. He does not move, said Tetty. He refuses to pay, said Mr. Hackett. He does not refuse to pay, said Goff. He offers me four shillings and fourpence. It is all the money he has in the world.

No soy, ¿es menester decirlo?, ni Murphy, ni Watt, ni Mercier -no, no quiero volver a nombrarlos- ni ninguno de los otros, de los cuales he olvidado hasta los nombres, que me dijeron que yo era ellos, que debía intentar serlo, a la fuerza, por miedo.

I. What value is to be attached to the theory that Eve sprang, not from Adam's rib, but from a tumour in the fat of his leg (arse?). 2. Did the serpent crawl or, as Comestor affirms, walk upright? 3. Did Mary conceive through the ear, as Augustine and Adobard assert? 4. How much longer are we to hang about waiting for the antechrist? 5. Does it really matter which hand is employed to absterge the podex? 6. What is one to think of the Irish oath sworn by the natives with the right hand on the relics of the saints and the left on the v i r ile member? 7. Does nature observe the sabbath? 8. Is it true that the devils do not feel the pains of hell? 9. The algebraic theology of Craig. What is one to think of this? 10. Is it true that the infant Saint-Roch n:fused suck on Wed nesdays and Fridays? II. What is one to think of the excommunication of vermin in t he sixteenth century? 12. Is one to approve of the Italian cobbler Lovat who, having cut off his testicles, crucified himself. 13. What was God doing with himself before the creation? 14. Might not the beatific vision become a source of boredom, in the long run? 15. Is it true that Judas' torments are suspended on Saturdays? 16. What if the mass for the dead were read over the living? And I recited the pretty quietist Pater, Our Father who art no more in heaven than on earth or in hell, I neither want nor desire that thy name be hallowed, thou knowest best what suits thee. Etc. The middle and the end are very pretty. It was in this frivolous and charming world that I took refuge, when my cup ran over. But I asked myself other questions concerning me perhaps more c!osely. As for example. 1. Why had I not borrowed a few shillings from Gaber? 2. Why had I obeyed the order to go home? 3. What had become of Molloy? 4. Same question for me. 5. What would become of me? 6. Same question for my son. 7. Was his mother in heaven? 8. Same question for my mother. 9. Would I go to heaven ? 10. Would we all meet again in heaven one day, I. my mother, my son. his mother, Youdi, Gaber. Molloy, his mother, Yerk, Murphy, Watt, Camier and the rest? 11. What had become of my hens. my bees? Was my grey hen still living? 12. Zulu, the Elsner sisters, were they still living? 13. Was Youdi's business address still 8, Acacia Square? What if I wrote to him? What if I went to see him? I would explain to him. What would I explain to him? I would crave his forgive ness. Forgiveness for what? 14. Was not the winter exceptionally severe? 15. How long had I gone now without either confession or communion? 16. What was the name of the martyr who, being in prison, loaded with chains, covered with wounds and vermin. unable to stir, celebrated the consecration on his stomach and gave himself absolution? 17. What would I do until my death? Was there no means of hastening this, without falling into a state of sin? But before I launch my body properly so-called across these icy. then. with the thaw, muddy solitudes. I wish to say that I often thought of my bees, more often than of my hens. and God knows I thought often of my hens. And I thought above all of their dance, for my bees danced, oh not as men dance, to amuse themselves. but in a different way

But by this time Watt was tired of the ditch, which he had been thinking of leaving, when the voices detained him. And one of the reasons why he was tired of the ditch was perhaps this, that the earth, whose contours and peculiar smell the vegetation had first masked, now he felt it, and smelt it, the bare hard dark stinking earth. And if there were two things that Watt loathed, one was the earth and the other was the sky.

I. What value is to be attached to the theory that Eve sprang, not from Adam's rib, but from a tumour in the fat of his leg (arse?). 2. Did the serpent crawl or, as Comestor affirms, walk upright? 3. Did Mary conceive through the ear, as Augustine and Adobard assert? 4. How much longer are we to hang about waiting for the antechrist? 5. Does it really matter which hand is employed to absterge the podex? 6. What is one to think of the Irish oath sworn by the natives with the right hand on the relics of the saints and the left on the v i r ile member? 7. Does nature observe the sabbath? 8. Is it true that the devils do not feel the pains of hell? 9. The algebraic theology of Craig. What is one to think of this? 10. Is it true that the infant Saint-Roch refused suck on Wednesdays and Fridays? II. What is one to think of the excommunication of vermin in t he sixteenth century? 12. Is one to approve of the Italian cobbler Lovat who, having cut off his testicles, crucified himself. 13. What was God doing with himself before the creation? 14. Might not the beatific vision become a source of boredom, in the long run? 15. Is it true that Judas' torments are suspended on Saturdays? 16. What if the mass for the dead were read over the living? And I recited the pretty quietist Pater, Our Father who art no more in heaven than on earth or in hell, I neither want nor desire that thy name be hallowed, thou knowest best what suits thee. Etc. The middle and the end are very pretty. It was in this frivolous and charming world that I took refuge, when my cup ran over. But I asked myself other questions concerning me perhaps more c!osely. As for example. 1. Why had I not borrowed a few shillings from Gaber? 2. Why had I obeyed the order to go home? 3. What had become of Molloy? 4. Same question for me. 5. What would become of me? 6. Same question for my son. 7. Was his mother in heaven? 8. Same question for my mother. 9. Would I go to heaven ? 10. Would we all meet again in heaven one day, I. my mother, my son. his mother, Youdi, Gaber. Molloy, his mother, Yerk, Murphy, Watt, Camier and the rest? 11. What had become of my hens. my bees? Was my grey hen still living? 12. Zulu, the Elsner sisters, were they still living? 13. Was Youdi's business address still 8, Acacia Square? What if I wrote to him? What if I went to see him? I would explain to him. What would I explain to him? I would crave his forgive ness. Forgiveness for what? 14. Was not the winter exceptionally severe? 15. How long had I gone now without either confession or communion? 16. What was the name of the martyr who, being in prison, loaded with chains, covered with wounds and vermin. unable to stir, celebrated the consecration on his stomach and gave himself absolution? 17. What would I do until my death? Was there no means of hastening this, without falling into a state of sin? But before I launch my body properly so-called across these icy. then. with the thaw, muddy solitudes. I wish to say that I often thought of my bees, more often than of my hens. and God knows I thought often of my hemore c!osely. As for example. 1. Why had I not borrowed a few shillings from Gaber? 2. Why had I obeyed the order to go home? 3. What had become of Molloy? 4. Same question for me. 5. What would become of me? 6. Same question for my son. 7. Was his mother in heaven? 8. Same question for my mother. 9. Would I go to heaven ? 10. Would we all meet again in heaven one day, I. my mother, my son. his mother, Youdi, Gaber. Molloy, his mother, Yerk, Murphy, Watt, Camier and the rest? 11. What had become of my hens. my bees? Was my grey hen still living? 12. Zulu, the Elsner sisters, were they still living? 13. Was Youdi's business address still 8, Acacia Square? What if I wrote to him? What if I went to see him? I would explain to him. What would I explain to him? I would crave his forgive ness. Forgiveness for what?