Albert Camus

Since we’re all going to die, it’s obvious that when and how don’t matter.

Every time there’s a death here, they’re in a nervous state for two or three days

I agreed it wasn’t a bad plan; it would punish her, all right.

Still, I had an idea he looked annoyed, and I said, without thinking: “Sorry, sir, but it’s not my fault, you know.”

I drank the coffee, and then I wanted a cigarette. But I wasn’t sure if I should smoke, under the circumstances—in Mother’s presence. I thought it over; really, it didn’t seem to matter, so I offered the keeper a cigarette, and we both smoked.

"But," I reminded myself, "it's common knowledge that life isn't worth living, anyhow."

I didn’t say anything, or make any movement, but for the first time in my life I wanted to kiss a man.

And so I learned that familiar paths traced in the dusk of summer evenings may lead as well to prisons as to innocent, untroubled sleep.

So I asked him what the dog had done.

And also according to him, a man who is morally guilty of killing his mother severs himself from society in the same way as the man who raises a murderous hand against the father who begat him. In any case, the one man paved the way for the deeds of the other, in a sense foreshadowed and even legitimized them.