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'Then we understand that rebellion cannot exist without a strange form of love. Those who find no rest in God or in history are condemned to live for those who, like themselves, cannot live; in fact, for the humiliated.'
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And then came human beings; humans wanted to cling but there was nothing to cling to.
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Slave camps under the flag of freedom, massacres justified by philanthropy or the taste of the superhuman, cripple judgment. On the day when crime puts on the apparel of innocence, through a curious reversal peculiar to our age, it is innocence that is called on to justify itself. The purpose of this essay is to accept and study that strange challenge.
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One dies if necessary, one breaks rather than bending. But I bend, because I continue to love myself.
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He had been bored, that's all, bored like most people. Hence he had made himself out of whole cloth a life full of complications and drama. Something must happen - and that explains most human commitments. Something must happen, even loveless slavery, even war or death. Hurray then for funerals!
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When one has no character, one HAS to apply a method. Here it did wonders incontrovertibly, and I am living on the site of one of the greatest crimes in human history.
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I like people who dream or talk to themselves interminably; I like them, for they are double. They are here and elsewhere.
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Happiness implied a choice, and within that choice a concerted will, a lucid desire.
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Art is the activity that exalts and denies simultaneously. 'No artist tolerates reality,' says Nietzsche.
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The world evades us because it becomes itself again. That stage scenery masked by habit becomes what it is. It withdraws at a distance from us.
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Il me restait peu de temps. Je ne voulais pas le perdre avec Dieu.
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We continue to shape our personality all our life. If we knew ourselves perfectly, we should die.
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Always go too far, because that's where you'll find the truth.
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In order to cease being a doubtful case, one has to cease being, that's all.
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If you keep on excusing, you eventually give your blessing to the slave camp, to cowardly force, to organized executioners, to the cynicism of great political monsters; you finally hand over your brothers.
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I'd have given ten conversations with Einstein for a first meeting with a pretty chorus girl.
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... there are two types of happiness and I have chosen that of the murderers. For I am happy. There was a time when I thought I had reached the limit of distress. Beyond that limit, there is a sterile and magnificent happiness.
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O light! This is the cry of all the characters of ancient drama brought face to face with their fate. This last resort was ours, too, and I knew it now. In the middle of winter I at last discovered that there was in me an invincible summer.
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We Raymond and Meursault stared at each other without blinking, and everything came to a stop there between the sea, the sand, and the sun, and the double silence of the flute and the water. It was then that I realized that you could either shoot or not shoot.
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There is not love of life without despair about life.
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The actor’s realm is that of the fleeting.
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He seemed so certain about everything, didn't he? And yet none of his certainties was worth one hair of a woman's head. He wasn't even sure he was alive, because he was living like a dead man.
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Our reason has driven all away. Alone at last, we end up ruling over a desert.
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There is so much stubborn hope in the human heart.