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Quote by Albert Camus

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Albert Camus
Albert Camus

Albert Camus was a French author and philosopher, born on November 7, 1913, and died on January 4, 1960. Known for his unique existentialist philosophy and profound insights into human suffering, Camus' works include 'The Stranger', 'The Plague', and 'The Myth of Sisyphus', which have had a profound impact on 20th-century literature. more

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“Por eso, a partir de mi salida de la cárcel y de esa conversación con mi familia, supe en lo más profundo de mí, y casi podría decir que lo sentí físicamente, que un día me iba a morir, que todo es transitorio, efímero, que nada tiene en realidad mucho peso ni sustancia, y que por lo tanto estamos atrapados en un sueño, en una dimensión de irrealidad: creemos que las cosas, las ideas, los afectos y que nosotros mismos somos perdurables, cuando la verdad es que estamos de paso y que nuestra importancia es muy poca, por no decir inexistente.”

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“No soy jamás lo que creo que soy, es algo que me ocurre continuamente, de modo que si yo no estuviera para unirlos, mi ser de la mañana no reconocería al de la noche. No hay nadie más diferentes de mí que yo mismo. Únicamente en la soledad percibo a veces mi sustrato y logro una cierta continuidad primordial; pero entonces me parece que mi vida se aletarga, que se detiene y voy a dejar de ser. Mi corazón solo late por simpatía; solo vivo para los demás; por procuración, diría yo, por esponsales, y cuando vivo con más intensidad es cunado salgo de mí para convertirme en cualquier otra persona.”

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“Es como si este Espíritu vital nos dijera: Yo te daré vida y harás lo que quieras con ella. Serás feliz o serás desdichado. Me amarás o me odiarás. Me gozarás o me sufrirás. Pero al final, cuando llegue el último silencio que acompaña la muerte, negaré haberte dado esa vida. Será como si nunca te la hubiera dado. Querrás reclamarme. Querrás protestar y gritar que sí viviste, que sí gozaste y que sí me abrazaste. Que me amaste y disfrutaste. Pero esa queja, esa interpelación no solo jamás será escuchada sino que jamás será hecha. Y jamás será hecha porque a final de cuentas, en lo que a mí concierne, nunca viviste, nunca me tuviste y por eso nunca me gozaste ni me amaste.”

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Book:Pesimismo profundo
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“A linguagem é a morada do ser. Na habitação da linguagem mora o homem. Os pensadores e os poetas são os guardiões dessa morada. Sua vigília consiste em levar a cabo a manifestação do ser, na medida em que, por seu dizer, a levam à linguagem e nela a custodiam. O pensar não se converte em ação pelo fato de provir dele algum efeito ou por ser utilizado. O pensar age na medida em que pensa. Essa ação é provavelmente a mais simples e ao mesmo tempo a mais elevada, pois diz respeito à relação entre o ser e homem. Toda atuação, porém, repousa no ser e se dirige ao ente.”

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“Speaking of distortions of reality, I would guess that it was probably sometime around 2011 that I started noticing that the love of my life always carried bottles of Angostura bitters around with her, hidden in her purse. Maybe you are familiar with this concoction, maybe not. Bitters are a staple of every bar—a potent proprietary blend of herbs, spices, and alcohol that, when added to certain cocktails, both deepens and brightens the flavor profiles of those drinks. Bitters deliver such an intense taste sensation that you don’t need much of the stuff—just a dash. But Rayya wasn’t using the bitters to brighten up a cocktail—because she didn’t drink cocktails, because she was sober. And she wasn’t adding a few drops to some nonalcoholic beverage, either, as people sometimes do. No, she was just straight-up drinking the stuff, before, during, and after every meal—on the rocks—often downing an entire bottle at a time. And Angostura bitters have an alcohol content of 44.7 percent, which is equivalent to most vodkas, whiskeys, rums, and tequilas. Now, I know this doesn’t make sense—that somebody who claimed to be sober was also drinking every day—but that’s what Rayya was doing. She was doing this, mind you, while she was still telling her story of sobriety at twelve-step meetings (including Alcoholics Anonymous meetings) and also writing a memoir about her victory over substance addiction. Soon the bottles of Angostura bitters started showing up everywhere—not only in her purse but also in her suitcase, in the fridge, on the kitchen shelves next to her boxes of cereal, in the glove compartment of her car. She even kept bottles of bitters—multiple bottles—at her friends’ houses for when she came over to visit. (We all kept finding them in the weirdest places for years after she died.) She always had to check her luggage when we flew, because she wouldn't go anywhere without a significant stash of these magical little bottles. I never questioned any of this, because I never questioned anything Rayya did back then, because I essentially saw Rayya as a godlike figure who was always right about everything. Nevertheless, she did once tell me that a doctor had “prescribed” the bitters to her, to help her digest her food and to take the edge off her chronic stomach pain. Now, I don’t know what the doctor actually said, because I wasn’t there. I do know a few things, though. I know that, a few years later, Rayya would also tell me that a doctor had prescribed cocaine to her (don’t worry; we’ll get to that story eventually), so she may not have been a reliable narrator on such matters. But I also know that Angostura is what’s commonly called a digestif—which is exactly what it sounds like: something that helps with digestion. The mixture, in fact, was created in 1824 by the German surgeon general of Simón Bolívar’s army, who prescribed it to his troops in Venezuela to ease their stomach problems. Angostura bitters, in other words, were indeed once used medicinally. Then again, so was cocaine.”

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