Albert Camus Quotes
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An intense feeling carries with it its own universe, magnificent or wretched as the case may be.
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The harshest winter finds an invincible summer in us.
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There are crimes of passion and crimes of logic. The boundary between them is not clearly defined.
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Without freedom, no art; art lives only on the restraints it imposes on itself, and dies of all others.
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In normal times all of us know, whether consciously or not, that there is no love which can't be bettered; nevertheless, we reconcile ourselves more or less easily to the fact that ours has never risen above the average.
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Can one be a saint if God does not exist? That is the only concrete problem I know of today.
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I don't want to be a genius-I have enough problems just trying to be a man.
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At the heart of all beauty lies something inhuman, and these hills, the softness of the sky, the outline of these trees at this very minute lose the illusory meaning with which we had clothed them, henceforth more remote than a lost paradise . . . that denseness and that strangeness of the world is absurd.
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In short, they were gambling on their luck, and luck is not to be coerced.
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I feel like getting married, or committing suicide, or subscribing to L'Illustration. Something desperate, you know.
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It was in Spain that my generation learned that one can be right and yet be beaten, that force can vanquish spirit, that there are times when courage is not its own recompense. It is this, doubtless, which explains why so many, the world over, feel the Spanish drama as a personal tragedy.
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The absurd is sin without God.
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Blessed are the hearts that can bend; they shall never be broken.
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If we believe in nothing, if nothing has any meaning and if we can affirm no values whatsoever, then everything is possible and nothing has any importance.
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There was a time when I didn’t at any minute have the slightest idea how I could reach the next one. Yes, one can wage war in this world, ape love, torture one’s fellow man, or merely say evil of one’s neighbour while knitting. But, in certain cases, carrying on, merely continuing, is superhuman.
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I knew that I had shattered the harmony of the day, the exceptional silence of a beach where I'd been happy. Then I fired four more times at the motionless body where the bullets lodged without leaving a trace. And it was like knocking four quick times on the door of unhappiness.
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When love ceases to be tragic it is something else and the individual again throws himself in search of tragedy.
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Believe me, the hardest thing for a man to give up is that which he really doesn't want, after all.
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Likewise, every time somebody interjects to speak of my honesty there is someone who quivers inside me.
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The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.
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What would become of the world if the condemned started to confide their heartaches to the executioners?
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Between history and the eternal I have chosen history because I like certainties. Of it, at least, I am certain, and how can I deny this force crushing me.
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But too many people now climb onto the cross merely to be seen from a greater distance, even if they have to trample somewhat on the one who has been there so long.
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Those who prefer their principles over their happiness, they refuse to be happy outside the conditions they seem to have attached to their happiness.