In the past, the poverty they shared had a certain sweetness about it. When the end of the day came and they would eat their dinner in silence with the oil lamp between them, there was a secret joy in such simplicity, such retrenchment.
There is scarcely any passion without struggle.
The realization that life is absurd cannot be an end, but only a beginning.
In this vast country that he had so loved, he was alone.
Truth is not a virtue, but a passion. It is never charitable.
After a short silence the doctor raised himself a little in his chair and asked if Tarrou had an idea of the path to follow for attaining peace. "Yes, he replied. "The path of sympathy.