Should I kill myself, or have a cup of coffee?
The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.
It is necessary to fall in love... if only to provide an alibi for all the random despair you are going to feel anyway.
I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world.
There is scarcely any passion without struggle.
Seeking what is true is not seeking what is desirable.
Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
I rebel; therefore I exist.
You will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of. You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life.
The tragedy is not that we are alone, but that we cannot be. At times I would give anything in the world to no longer be connected by anything to this universe of men.
People have played on words and pretended to believe that refusing to grant a meaning to life necessarily leads to declaring that it is not worth living. In truth, there is no necessary common measure between these two judgments.
All that remains is a fate whose outcome alone is fatal. Outside of that single fatality of death, everything, joy or happiness, is liberty. A world remains of which man is the sole master. What bound him was the illusion of another world.
There can be no question of holding forth on ethics. I have seen people behave badly with great morality and I note every day that integrity has no need of rules
At that time, I often thought that if I had had to live in the trunk of a dead tree, with nothing to do but look up at the sky flowing overhead, little by little I would have gotten used to it.
But what are a hundred million deaths? When one has served in a war, one hardly knows what a dead man is, after a while. And since a dead man has no substance unless one has actually seen him dead, a hundred million corpses broadcast through history are no more than a puff of smoke in the imagination.
Everything is true, and nothing is true!
Camus himself described this work as 'an attempt to understand the time I live in'.
One might think, that a period which, within fifty years, uproots, enslaves or kills seventy million human beings, should only, and forthwith, be condemned. But also its guilt must be understood.
Slave camps under the flag of freedom, massacres justified by philanthropy or the taste of the superhuman, cripple judgment. On the day when crime puts on the apparel of innocence, through a curious reversal peculiar to our age, it is innocence that is called on to justify itself. The purpose of this essay is to accept and study that strange challenge.
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