Albert Camus Quotes
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Without work all life goes rotten.
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You must have a love, a great love, to ensure an alibi at unjustified despairs that conquer all of us.
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Youth is above all a collection of possibilities.
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We are condemned to live together.
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Absolute freedom mocks at justice. Absolute justice denies freedom. To be fruitful, the two ideas must find their limits in each other.
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Blessed are the hearts that can bend; they shall never be broken.
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The main thing is that everything become simple, easy enough for a child to understand.
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The more I accuse myself, the more right I have to judge you. Even better, I make you judge yourself, which comforts me the more.
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For a man who loves power, competition from the gods is annoying. I have done away with that. I have proven to these illusory godsthat a man, if he has the will, can practice, without any apprenticeship, their ridiculous trade.
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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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I have never been able, really, to regret anything in all my life. I have always been far much too absorbed in the present moment or the immediate future to think back.
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That's love, giving everything, sacrificing all without hope of return.
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A loveless world is a dead world.
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They knew now that if there is one thing one can always yearn for, and sometimes attain, it is human love.
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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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There may be responsible persons, but there are no guilty ones.
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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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Old women even forget how to love their sons. The heart gets worn out, Monsieur.
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Still, obviously, one can't be sensible all the time.
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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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If something is going to happen to me, I want to be there.
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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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Mistakes are joyful, truth infernal.
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What can a meaning outside my condition mean to me? I can understand only in human terms. What I touch, what resists me - that I understand. And these two certainties - my appetite for the absolute and for unity and the impossibility of reducing this world to a rational and reasonable principle - I also know that I cannot reconcile them. What other truth can I admit without lying, without bringing in a hope I lack and which means nothing within the limits of my conditions?