It is right that he too should have his little chronicle, his memories, his reason, and be able to recognize the good in the bad, the bad in the worst, and so grow gently old down all the unchanging days, and die one day like any other day, only shorter.
Samuel Beckett
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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.
- Samuel Beckett -
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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.
- Samuel Beckett