I therefore conclude that the meaning of life is the most urgent of questions.
Suicide has never been dealt with except as a social phenomenon. One must follow and understand this fatal game that leads from lucidity in the face of existence to flight from light.
Like great works, deep feelings always mean more than they are conscious of saying.
The regularity of an impulse or a repulsion in a soul is encountered again in habits of doing or thinking, is reproduced in consequences of which the soul itself knows nothing.
Rising, streetcar, four hours in the office or the factory, meal, streetcar, four hours of work, meal, sleep, and Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday and Saturday according to the same rhythm—this path is easily followed most of the time.
But one day the “why” arises and everything begins in that weariness tinged with amazement. Weariness comes at the end of the acts of a mechanical life, but at the same time it inaugurates the impulse of consciousness.
Albert Camus’ philosophy of absurdity is most apparent in Le Etranger (The...
THERE is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide.
Dying voluntarily implies that you have recognized, even instinctively, the ridiculous character of that habit, the absence of any profound reason for living, the insane character of that daily agitation, and the uselessness of suffering.
This divorce between man and his life, the actor and his setting, is properly the feeling of absurdity.