"Along with the positive reviews and success Beckett received from Godot, he received a growing mass of fan letters, which he never relented from answering. Beckett often wrote his most profound and candid letters to strangers:
My dear Prisoner: I read and re-read your letter. Godot is from 48 or 49, I can’t remember. My last work from 50. Since then, nothing. That tells you how long I have been without words. I have never regretted it so much as now, when I need them from you. For a long time now, more or less aware of this extraordinary Luttringhausen affair, I’ve thought of the man who, in his cage, read, translated, put on my play. In all my life as man and writer, nothing like this has ever happened to me. To someone moved as I am phrases come easily, but from a sloppy way of talking not at all your style, given that I am no longer the same, and will never again be able to be the same, after what you have done, all of you. In the place where I have always found myself, where I will always find myself, turning round and round, falling over, getting up again, it is no longer wholly dark nor wholly silent. That you should have brought me such comfort is all that I can offer you as comfort. I, who am what is called free to come and go, to gorge myself, to make love, I shall not be fatuous enough to dispense to you words of wisdom. To whatever my play may have brought you, I can add this only: the huge gift you have made me by accepting it.Yazının tamamı için: http://thenewinquiry.com/post/14686862782/literary-tantalus
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