Avant-garde · Classic · Excerpt · Fiction · Irish Culture · Irish Literature · Modernism · Novel · Passage · Stream of Consciousness · Theatre of the Absurd · Trilogy

Samuel Beckett

I’m all these words, all these strangers, this dust of words, with no ground for their settling, no sky for their dispersing, coming together to say, fleeing one another to say, that I am they, all of them, those that merge, those that part, those that never meet, and nothing else, yes, something else, that… Continue reading Samuel Beckett

Rate this: