I actually read this play a long time ago, but I often (not always) write down my favourite quotes from the books that I read and I just happened to stumble on my quotes from this play the other day. Becket is a French play written in 1959 about events that occurred in 1170, namely the assassination of Thomas Becket.
May he rest in peace. His work is inviolable. But where he is now he doesn’t need money. I’m still on earth unfortunately, and I do.
Friendship is a fine thing. It’s a domestic animal, a living, tender thing. It seems to be all eyes, forever gazing at you, warming you. You don’t see its teeth. But it’s a beast with one curious characteristic. It is only after its death that it bites.
Without Might, its old enemy, Right counts for nothing.
We must only do–absurdly–what we have been given to do–right to the end.