Accepting the absurdity of everything around us is one step, a necessary experience: it should not become a dead end. It arouses a revolt that can become fruitful

Camus himself described this work as 'an attempt to understand the time I live in'.

[Paris] is dirty. It has pigeons and black yards. The people have white skin.

In the vast reaches of the dry, cold night, thousands of stars were constantly appearing, and their sparkling icicles, loosened at once, began to slip gradually toward the horizon.

But the world itself has no reason, and I can say so, I who have experienced it all, from the creation to the destruction.

Lucifer also has died with God, and from his ashes has arisen a spiteful demon who does not even understand the object of his venture.

Yes, and when the love of life disappears, no meaning can console us.