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Samuel Beckett

For to know nothing is nothing, not to want to know anything likewise, but to be beyond knowing anything, to know you are beyond knowing anything, that is when peace enters in, to the soul of the incurious seeker. ― Samuel Beckett, Molloy. (Grove Press, January 12, 1994) Originally published 1951. Advertisements

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

Samuel Becket

Weary with my weariness, white last moon, sole regret, not even. To be dead, before her, on her, with her, and turn, dead on dead, about poor mankind, and never have to die anymore, from among the living. Not even, not even that. My moon was here below, far below, the little I was able… Continue reading Samuel Becket

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Avant-garde · Classic · Excerpt · Fiction · Irish Culture · Irish Literature · Modernism · Novel · Passage · 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

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E. E. Cummings

ix nearer: breath of my breath: take not thy tingling limbs from me: make my pain their crazy meal letting thy tigers of smooth sweetness steal slowly in dumb blossoms of new mingling: deeper: blood of my blood: with upwardcringing swiftness plunge these leopards of white dream in the glad flesh of my fear: more… Continue reading E. E. Cummings

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Abstract · American Culture · American Literature · Avant-garde · Blues Form · Classic · Collection · Excerpt · Imagism · Linguistics · Modernism · Passage · Poetry · Romanticism · Surrealism

E. E. Cummings

gee i like to think of dead it means nearer because deeper firmer since darker than little round water at one end of the well it’s too cool to be crooked and it’s too firm to be hard but it’s sharp and thick and it loves, every old thing falls in rosebugs and jackknives and… Continue reading E. E. Cummings

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