I felt the urge to reassure him that I was like everybody else, just like everybody else.

We are not certain, we are never certain.

He seemed so certain about everything, didn't he? And yet none of his certainties was worth one hair of a woman's head. He wasn't even sure he was alive, because he was living like a dead man.

So all a man could win in the conflict between plague and life was knowledge and memories.

I draw from the Absurd three consequences: my revolt, my liberty, my passion.

Likewise and during every day of an unillustrious life, time carries us. But a moment always comes when we have to carry it.

All great deeds and all great thoughts have a ridiculous beginning. Great works are often born on a street corner or in a restaurant's revolving door.