The current motto for all of us can only be this: without giving up anything on the plane of justice, yield nothing on the plane of freedom.

For who would dare to assert that eternal happiness can compensate for a single moment's human suffering

At that moment he knew what his mother was thinking, and that she loved him. But he knew, too, that to love someone means relatively little; or, rather, that love is never strong enough to find the words befitting it. Thus he and his mother would always love each other silently. And one day she--or he--would die, without ever, all their lives long, having gone farther than this by way of making their affection known.

Heroism is accessible. Happiness is more difficult.

The absurd is essentially a divorce. It lies in neither of the elements compared; it is born of their confrontation.

From the moment absurdity is recognized, it becomes a passion, the most harrowing of all. But whether or not one can live with one's passions, whether or not one can accept their law, which is to burn the heart they simultaneously exalt - that is the whole question.

Instead of killing and dying in order to produce the being that we are not, we have to live and let live in order to create what we are.