Albert Camus Quotes
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It is always easy to be logical. It is almost impossible to be logical to the bitter end.
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The only really committed artist is he who, without refusing to take part in the combat, at least refuses to join the regular armies and remains a freelance.
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Should I kill myself, or have a cup of coffee?
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He knew now that it was his own will to happiness which must make the next move. But if he was to do so, he realized that he must come to terms with time, that to have time was at once the most magnificent and the most dangerous of experiments. Idleness is fatal only to the mediocre.
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Do not wait for the Last Judgment. It takes place every day.
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To stay or to go, it amounted to the same thing.
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Your success and happiness are forgiven you only if you generously consent to share them. But to be happy it is essential not to be too concerned with others. Consequently, there is no escape. Happy and judged, or absolved and wretched.
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But, you know, I feel more fellowship with the defeated than with saints. Heroism and sanctity don't really appeal to me, I imagine. What interests me is being a man.
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There is always a certain hour of the day and of the night when a man’s courage is at its lowest ebb, and it was that hour only that he feared.
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I know simply that the sky will last longer than I.
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Believe me, religions are on the wrong track the moment they moralize and fulminate commandments. God is not needed to create guilt or to punish. Our fellow men suffice, aided by ourselves.
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I had been right I was still right I was always right. I had lived my life one way and I could just as well lived it another. I had done this and I hadn't done that. I hadn't done this thing and I had done another. And so?
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The absurd hero's refusal to hope becomes his singular ability to live in the present with passion.
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Liberty is a choreand a long-distance race, quite solitary, quite exhausting.
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Truth, like light is dazzling. By contrast, untruth is a beautiful sunset that enhances everything.
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It is not your paintings I like, it is your painting.
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From the evening breeze to this hand on my shoulder, everything has its truth.
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Just as all thought, and primarily that of non-signification, signifies something, so there is no art that has no signification.
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But again and again there comes a time in history when the man who dares to say that two and two make four is punished with death. The schoolteacher is well aware of this. And the question is not one of knowing what punishment or reward attends the making of this calculation. The question is one of knowing whether two and two do make four.
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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.
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Men and women consume one another rapidly in what is called "the act of love," or else settle down to a mild habit of conjugality. We seldom find a mean between these two extremes.
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Thoughts of suicide have got me through many a bad night.
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In this vast country that he had so loved, he was alone.
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I cling like a miser to the freedom that disappears as soon as there is an excess of things.