In inima omenească există atîta încăpăţînată speranţă! Pînă şi oamenii cei mai desprinşi de toate sfarşesc uneori prin a accepta iluzia. Această aprobare dictată de nevoia de linişte este sora lăuntrică a consimţămîntului existenţial. Există astfel zei de lumină şi idoli de noroi. Dar noi trebuie să aflăm calea de mijloc ce duce către chipurile omului.
Albert CamusLa capătul a toate, se află moartea. Noi ştim asta. Ştim şi că o dată cu ea se termină totul. Iată de ce acele cimitire răspîndite în întreaga Europă şi care-i obsedează pe unii dintre noi sînt atît de urîte. Nu înfrumuseţezi decît ceea ce iubeşti, iar moartea ne face silă şi ne oboseşte. Ea trebuie, de asemenea, cucerită. Ultimul Carrara, prizonier în Padova pustiită de ciumă, asediată de veneţieni, străbătea urlînd sălile palatului său deşert, chemînd diavolul şi cerîndu-i moartea. Era un mod de a o depăşi. Şi tot un semn de curaj propriu Occidentului este acela de a fi dat un chip atît de înspăimîntător locurilor unde moartea se crede cinstită. În universul revoltatului, moartea glorifică injustiţia. Ea este supremul abuz.
Albert CamusToţi încearcă să mimeze, să repete şi să recreeze realitatea ce le este proprie. Sfîrşim totdeauna prin a avea chipul adevărurilor noastre. Pentru un om care a întors spatele eternităţii intreaga existenţă nu-i decît un mim uriaş sub masca absurdului.
Albert CamusVrem să cîştigăm bani, ca să trăim fericiţi, şi toată strădania celor mai buni ani de viaţă se concentrează în vederea cîştigării acestor bani. Fericirea este uitată, mijlocul e luat drept scop. Tot astfel, tot efortul cuceritorului va devia către ambiţie, care nu era la început decît o cale către o viaţă mai înaltă.
Albert CamusFlăcările eternităţii care-i mistuie pe anumiţi oameni sînt atît de nesăţioase, încît ei le dau pradă însăşi inima celor din preajma lor!
Albert CamusAnd I too, felt ready to start life all over again. It was as if that great rush of anger had washed me clean, emptied me of hope, and, gazing up at the dark sky spangled with its signs and stars, for the first time, the first, I laid my heart open to the benign indifference of the universe.
Albert CamusContrary to the current presumption, if there is any man who has no right to solitude, it is the artist. Art cannot be a monologue. When the most solitary and least famous artist appeals to posterity, he is merely reaffirming his fundamental vocation. Considering a dialogue with deaf or inattentive contemporaries to be impossible, he appeals to a more far-reaching dialogue with the generations to come. But in order to speak about all and to all, one has to speak of what all know and of the reality common to us all. The sea, rains, necessity, desire, the struggle against death—these are the things that unite us all. We resemble one another in what we see together, in what we suffer together. Dreams change from individual to individual, but the reality of the world is common to us all.
Albert CamusFrom east to west, in fact, her gaze swept slowly, without encountering a single obstacle, along a perfect curve. Beneath her, the blue-and-white terraces of the Arab town overlapped one another, splattered with the dark-red spots of the peppers drying in the sun. Not a soul could be seen, but from the inner courts, together with the aroma of roasting coffee, there rose laughing voices or incomprehensible stamping of feet. Father off, the palm grove, divided into uneven squares by clay walls, rustled its upper foliage in a wind that could not be felt up on the terace. Still farther off and all the way to the horizon extended the ocher-and-gray realm of stones, in which no life was visible. At some distance from the oasis, however, near the wadi that bordered the palm grove on the west could be seen broad black tents. All around them a flock of motionless dromedaries, tiny at the distance, formed against the gray ground the black signs of a strange handwriting, the meaning of which had to be deciphered. Above the desert, the silence was as vast as the space.
Janine, leaning her whole body against the parapet, was speechless, unable to tear herself away from the void opening before her. Beside her, Marcel was getting restless. He was cold; he wanted to go back down. What was there to see here, after all? But she could not take her gaze from the horizon. Over yonder, still farther south, at that point where sky and earth met in a pure line - over yonder it suddenly seemed there was awaiting her something of which, though it had always been lacking, she had never been aware until now. In the advancing afternoon the light relaxed and softened; it was passing from the crystalline to the liquid. Simultaneously, in the heart of a woman brought there by pure chance a knot tightened by the years, habit, and boredom was slowly loosening. She was looking at the nomads' encampment. She had not even seen the men living in it' nothing was stirring among the black tents, and yet she could think only of them whose existence she had barely known until this day. Homeless, cut off from the world, they were a handful wandering over the vast territory she could see, which however was but a paltry part of an even greater expanse whose dizzying course stopped only thousands of miles farther south, where the first river finally waters the forest. Since the beginning of time, on the dry earth of this limitless land scraped to bone, a few men had been ceaselessly trudging, possessing nothing but serving no one, poverty-stricken but free lords of a strange kingdom. Janine did not know why this thought filled her with such a sweet, vast melancholy that it closed her eyes. She knew that this kingdom had been eternally promised her and yet that it would never be hers, never again, except in this fleeting moment perhaps when she opened her eyes again on the suddenly motionless sky and on its waves of steady light, while the voices rising from the Arab town suddenly fell silent. It seemed to her that the world's course had just stopped and that, from that moment on, no one would ever age any more or die. Everywhere, henceforth, life was suspended - except in her heart, where, at the same moment, someone was weeping with affliction and wonder.
Думаю, я. просто лишен вкуса к героизму и святости. Единственное,. что мне важно, – это быть. человеком.
– Да, оба мы ищем одно и то же, только я не имею столь высоких притязаний.
не так уж это много – любить другого, и, во всяком случае, любовь никогда не бывает настолько сильной, чтобы найти себе выражение.
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