I'm A Hopeless 19th-century Romantic.

Throughout The 1960s And 1970s Devoted Beckett Readers Greeted Each Successively Shorter Volume From The Master With A Mixture Of Awe And Apprehensiveness; It Was Like Watching A Great Mathematician Wielding An Infinitesimal Calculus, His Equations Approaching Nearer And Still Nearer To The Null Point.

The Trouble With You, Vic," He Said, "is That You Think Of The World As A Sort Of Huge Museum With Too Many Visitors Allowed In.

Doing What You Do Well Is Death. Your Duty Is To Keep Trying To Do Things That You Don't Do Well, In The Hope Of Learning.

I Like Ideas. I Find Them More Exciting Than Human Behavior For The Most Part.

Happiness Was Different In Childhood. It Was So Much Then A Matter Simply Of Accumulation, Of Taking Things - New Experiences, New Emotions - And Applying Them Like So Many Polished Tiles To What Would Someday Be The Marvellously Finished Pavilion Of The Self.