Samuel Beckett Quotes

Hell is life drying up.

Those who are not Christians go to a place of suffering and torment called hell.

Hell is full of good wishes or desires.

If you look at any religious description of hell, it is the same as human society, the way we dream. Hell is a place of suffering, a place of fear, a place of war and violence, a place of judgment and no justice, a place of punishment that never ends.

What is hell?...The suffering that comes from the consciousness that one is no longer able to love.

And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall, By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell.

You heard of hell, well I was sent from it.

Through me you go into a city of weeping; through me you go into eternal pain; through me you go amongst the lost people

I don't know if paradise or hell exist, but I'm sure hell is more groovy.

Who made the world I cannot tell; 'Tis made, and here am I in hell. My hand, though now my knuckles bleed, I never soiled with such a deed.

I envy the dead.

When I die, I hope they don't cremate me 'cuz I'll burn forever.

The road to Hades is the easiest to travel.

I wonder what your idea of heaven would be — A beautiful vacuum filled with wealthy monogamists. All powerful and members of the best families all drinking themselves to death. And hell would probably an ugly vacuum full of poor polygamists unable to obtain booze or with chronic stomach disorders that they called secret sorrows.

Let me be boiled to death with melancholy.

A dungeon horrible, on all sides round, As one great furnace, flamed; yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible Serv'd only to discover sights of woe, Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes That comes to all; but torture without end.

I don't know, but I've been told, the streets of hell are paved with gold.

HELL: A place where the police are German, the motorists French and the cooks English.

I guess that's why they call it Hell.

The bodies of the damned shall be crowded together in hell, like grapes in a wine-press, which press one another till they burst; every distinct sense and organ shall be assailed with its own appropriate and most exquisite sufferings.

Hell is just resistance to life.

And when he had put his hand on mine with a cheerful look, wherefrom I took courage, he brought me within to the secret things. Here sighs, laments, and deep wailings were resounding through the starless air; wherefore at first I wept thereat. Strange tongues, horrible utterances, words of woe, accents of anger, voices high and faint, and sounds of hands with them, were making a tumult which whirls always in that air forever dark, like the sand when the whirlwind breathes.

Hell is no other but a soundlesse pit, Where no one beame of comfort peeps in it.

I have known heaven, and now I am in hell, and there are mimes.

Why am I in Hell? It hurts. It hurts all the time. Why am I in Hell? I just want to go home and lie on the bed the way I used to. Please take me home.