Without work, all life goes rotten. But when work is soulless, life stifles and dies.
Once one's up against it, the precise manner of one's death has obviously small importance.
To grow old is to pass from passion to compassion.
Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday; I can't be sure.
All systems of morality are based on the idea that an action has consequences that legitimize or cancel it. A mind imbued with the absurd merely judges that those consequences must be considered calmly.
Does the end justify the means? That is possible. But what will justify the end? To that question, which historical thought leaves pending, rebellion replies: the means.