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Vous me demandez mes idйes sur En attendant Godot, dont vous me faites l'honneur de donner des extraits au Club d'essai, et en mкme temps mes idйes sur le thйвtre. Je n'ai pas d'idйes sur le thйвtre. Je n'y connais rien. Je n'y vais pas. C'est admissible. Ce qui l'est sans doute moins, c'est d'abord, dans ces conditions, d'йcrire une piиce, et ensuite, l'ayant fait, de ne pas avoir d'idйes sur elle non plus. C'est malheureusement mon cas.Il n'est pas donnй а tous de pouvoir passer du monde qui...

Originally written in French and translated into English by Beckett, Endgame was given its first London performance at the Royal Court Theatre in 1957. Hamm: Clov! Clov: Yes. Hamm: Nature has forgotten us. Clov: There's no more nature. Hamm: No more nature! You exaggerate. Clov: In the vicinity. Hamm: But we breathe, we change! We lose our hair our teeth! Our bloom! Our ideals! Clov: Then she hasn't forgotten us.

This new collection brings together First Love, The Calamative, The End and The Expelled; these four novellas are among the first major works of Beckett's decision to use French as his language of literary composition. Rich in verbal and situational humour, they offer a fascinating insight into many of the issues which preoccupied Beckett all his working life. As the first novella reveals, nobody writes with quite such cruel and unnervingly clever wit as Beckett...

'Malone', writes Malone, 'is what I am called now.' On his deathbed, and wiling away the time with stories, the octogenarian Malone's account of his condition is intermittent and contradictory, shifting with the vagaries of the passing days: without mellowness, without elegiacs; wittier, jauntier, and capable of wilder rages than Molloy. The sound I liked best had nothing noble about it. It was the barking of the dogs, at night, in the clusters of hovels up in the...

Malone, writes Malone, is what I am called now. On his deathbed, and wiling away the time with stories, the octogenarian Malones account of his condition is intermittent and contradictory, shifting with the vagaries of the passing days: without mellowness, without elegiacs; wittier, jauntier, and capable of wilder rages than Molloy. The sound I liked best had nothing noble about it. It was the barking of the dogs, at night, in the clusters of hovels up in the hills, where the stone-cutters...

Samuel Beckett is the greatest Irish novelist of the later twentieth century, and this trilogy of novels is his masterpiece -which makes it perhaps the outstanding literary work of our time. Because Beckett has a reputation for being difficult, even obscure, readers of the trilogy are bound to be struck not only by the verbal brilliance and inventiveness of the three novels, but also by their extraordinary humour which ranges from wit to broad comedy and even farce in a recognizably Irish way....

'They didn't seem to take much interest in my private parts which to tell the truth were nothing to write home about, I didn't take much interest in them myself.' From the master of the absurd, these two stories of an unnamed vagrant contending with decay and death combine bleakness with the blackest of humour. Penguin Modern: fifty new books celebrating the pioneering spirit of the iconic Penguin Modern Classics series, with each one offering a concentrated hit of its...

The Unnamable – so named because he knows not who he may be – is from a nameless place. He speaks of previous selves (‘all these Murphys, Molloys, and Malones…’) as diversions from the need to stop speaking altogether. But, as with the other novels in the trilogy, the prose is full of marvellous precisions, full of its own reasons for keeping going. …perhaps the words have carried me to the threshold of my story, before the door that opens on my story, that would surprise me, if it opens, it...