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

The struggle to reach the top is itself enough to fulfill the heart of man. One must believe that Sisyphus is happy.

Still, obviously, one can't be sensible all the time.

He was expressing his certainty that my appeal would be granted, but I was carrying the burden of a sin from which I had to free myself. According to him, human justice was nothing and divine justice was everything. I pointed out it was the former that had condemned me.

Working conditions for me have always been those of the monastic life: solitude and frugality. Except for frugality, they are contrary to my nature, so much so that work is a violence I do to myself.

Liberty is dangerous, as hard to get along with as it is exciting.

Old women even forget how to love their sons. The heart gets worn out, Monsieur.