In Oran, as elsewhere, for want of time and thought, people have to love one another without knowing it.

If you keep on excusing, you eventually give your blessing to the slave camp, to cowardly force, to organized executioners, to the cynicism of great political monsters; you finally hand over your brothers.

... one cannot be happy in exile or in oblivion. One cannot always be a stranger. I want to return to my homeland, make all my loved ones happy. I see no further than this.

The words that reverberate for us at the confines of this long adventure of rebellion are not formulas for optimism, for which we have no possible use in the extremities of our unhappiness, but words of courage and intelligence which, on the shores of the eternal seas, even have the qualities of virtue.

Nothing in life is worth, turning your back on, if you love it.

Intelligence in chains loses in lucidity what it gains in intensity.

Virtue cannot separate itself from reality without becoming a principle of evil.