All that remains is a fate whose outcome alone is fatal. Outside of that single fatality of death, everything, joy or happiness, is liberty. A world remains of which man is the sole master. What bound him was the illusion of another world. The outcome of his thought, ceasing to be renunciatory, flowers in images. It frolics—in myths, to be sure, but myths with no other depth than that of human suffering and, like it, inexhaustible. Not the divine fable that amuses and blinds, but the terrestrial face, gesture, and drama in which are summed up a difficult wisdom and an ephemeral passion.

The Ephemeral Creation

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More from Albert Camus

Integrity has no need of rules.

For if there is a sin against life, it consists perhaps not so much in despairing of life as in hoping for another life and in eluding the implacable grandeur of this life.

Don’t walk in front of me because I may not follow.
Don’t walk behind me because I may not lead.
Just walk beside me and be my friend.

Man is the only creature that refuses to be what he is.

In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.