If I convince myself that this life has no other aspect than that of the absurd, if I feel that its whole equilibrium depends on that perpetual opposition between my conscious revolt and the darkness in which it struggles, if I admit that my freedom has no meaning except in relation to its limited fate, then I must say that what counts is not the best living but the most living.

I had only a little time left and I didn't want to waste it on God.

As a remedy to life in society I would suggest the big city. Nowadays, it is the only desert within our means.

That is love, to give away everything, to sacrifice everything, without the slightest desire to get anything in return.3

We get into the habit of living before acquiring the habit of thinking. In that race which daily hastens us towards death, the body maintains its irreparable lead.

The absurd is sin without God.

If we understood the enigmas of life there would be no need for art.