To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now.
(Proust)

Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes, it's awful!
(Waiting for Godot)

Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.
(Worstward Ho)

To contrive a little kingdom, in the midst of the universal muck, then shit on it, ah that was me all over.
(The End)

His writing is not of something. It is the thing itself.
(Beckett on James Joyce – Our Examination Round His Factification for Incamination of Work in Progress)

I don't like animals. It's a strange thing, I don't like men and I don't like animals. As for God, he is beginning to disgust me.
(Molloy)

Nothing is more real than nothing.
(Malone Dies)

The tears stream down my cheeks from my unblinking eyes. What makes me weep so? From time to time. There is nothing saddening here. Perhaps it is liquefied brain.
(The Unamable)

The last time wasn't so bad. How do you manage it, she said, at your age? I told her I'd been saving up for her all my life.
(Krapp's Last Tape)

Vladimir: That passed the time
Estragon: It would have passed anyway.
Vladimir: Yes, but not so rapidly.
(Waiting for Godot)