The surge his body made when he considered living longer–even though it would bring him back to the same place–contemplating death.
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Albert Camus
Albert Camus (French: [albɛʁ kamy]; 7 November 1913 – 4 January 1960) was a French philosopher, author, and journalist. His views contributed to the rise of the philosophy known as absurdism. He wrote in his essay The Rebel that his whole life was devoted to opposing the philosophy of nihilism while still delving deeply into individual freedom. He won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1957. Camus did not consider himself to be an existentialist despite usually being classified as a follower of it, even in his lifetime. In a 1945 interview, Camus rejected any ideological associations: "No, I am not an existentialist. Sartre and I are always surprised to see our names linked." Camus was born in French Algeria to a Pied-Noir family and studied at the University of Algiers, from which he graduated in 1936. In 1949, Camus founded the Group for International Liaisons to "denounce two ideologies found in both the USSR and the USA". 2Life 3Early years Albert Camus was born on 7 November 1913 in Dréan (then known as Mondovi) in French Algeria. His mother was of Spanish descent and could only hear out of her left ea
Mother died today.
Mother died today.
An intellectual is someone whose mind watches itself. I like this, because I am happy to be both halves, the watcher and the watched.
She was wearing a pair of my pyjamas with the sleeves rolled up. When she laughed I wanted her again. A minute later she asked me if I loved her. I told her it didn't mean anything but that I didn't think so. She looked sad. But as we were fixing lunch, and for no apparent reason, she laughed in…
Yes, everything is simple. It’s people who complicate things.
And never have I felt so deeply at one and, at the same time, so detached from myself, and so present in the world.
A man's work is nothing but this slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened.
In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
Believe me there is no such thing as great suffering, great regret, great memory....everything is forgotten, even a great love. That's what's sad about life, and also what's wonderful about it. There is only a way of looking at things, a way that comes to you every once in a while. That's why it's…
When I look at my life and its secret colours, I feel like bursting into tears.
It takes time to be happy. A lot of time. Happiness, too, is a long patience.
When I look at my life and its secret colours, I feel like bursting into tears.
I think my life is of great importance, but I also think it is meaningless.
There is no sun without shadows, and it is essential to know the night.
In order to understand the world, one has to turn away from it on occasion.
If it were sufficient to love, things would be too easy. The more one loves, the stronger the absurd grows.
Sometimes at night I would sleep open-eyed underneath a sky dripping with stars. I was alive then.
I said that the world is absurd, but I was too hasty. This world in itself is not reasonable, that is all that can be said. But what is absurd is the confrontation of this irrational and the wild longing for clarity whose call echoes in the human heart.
I said that the world is absurd, but I was too hasty. This world in itself is not reasonable, that is all that can be said. But what is absurd is the confrontation of this irrational and the wild longing for clarity whose call echoes in the human heart.