Albert Camus
Albert Camus
Albert Camus; 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...
NationalityFrench
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth7 November 1913
CountryFrance
distance long people
But too many people now climb onto the cross merely to be seen from a greater distance, even if they have to trample somewhat on the one who has been there so long.
pain kindness would-be
And for all his life it would be kindness and love that made him cry, never pain or persecution, which on the contrary only reinforced his spirit and his resolution.
destiny men faces
Culture: the cry of men in face of their destiny.
believe men world
I continue to believe that this world has no ultimate meaning. But I know that something in it has a meaning and that is man, because he is the only creature to insist on having one
mean thinking facts
In fact, it comes to this: nobody is capable of really thinking about anyone, even in the worst calamity. For really to think about someone means thinking about that person every minute of the day, without letting one’s thoughts be diverted by anything- by meals, by a fly that settles on one’s cheek, by household duties, or by a sudden itch somewhere. But there are always flies and itches. That’s why life is difficult to live.
youth possibility collections
Youth is above all a collection of possibilities.
suicide passion three
Thus I draw from the absurd three consequences, which are my revolt, my freedom, and my passion. By the mere activity of consciousness I transform into a rule of life what was an invitation to death—and I refuse suicide.
memories eye boys
Some other memories of the funeral have stuck in my mind. The old boy’s face, for instance, when he caught up with us for the last time, just outside the village. His eyes were streaming with tears, of exhaustion or distress, or both together. But because of the wrinkles they couldn’t flow down. They spread out, crisscrossed, and formed a smooth gloss on the old, worn face.
lying hypocrisy too-much
I am too much in love with my lies and hypocrisies not to confess them fervently.
war men ideas
There was a time when I didn’t at any minute have the slightest idea how I could reach the next one. Yes, one can wage war in this world, ape love, torture one’s fellow man, or merely say evil of one’s neighbour while knitting. But, in certain cases, carrying on, merely continuing, is superhuman.
men thinking despair
To think the way you do, you have to be a man who lives either on a tremendous despair, or on a tremendous hope. On both perhaps.
men hands way
On my way out I was even going to shake his hand, but I remembered just in time that I'd killed a man.
mean doe plague
But what does it mean, the plague? It's life, that's all.
play next-day week
One plays at being immortal and after a few weeks one doesn't even know whether or not one can hang on till the next day.