“Have you no hope at all? And do you really live with the thought that when you die, you die, and nothing remains? Yes, I said. I had only a little time left and I didnt want to waste it on God. Nothing, nothing mattered, and I knew why. So did he. Throughout the whole absurd life Id lived, a dark wind had been rising toward me from somewhere deep in my future, across years that were still to come, and as it passed, this wind leveled whatever was offered to me at the time, in years no more real than the ones I was living. What did other peoples deaths or a mothers love matter to me; what did his God or the lives people choose or the fate they think they elect matter to me when were all elected by the same fate, me and billions of privileged people like him who also called themselves my brothers? Couldnt he see, couldnt he see that? Everybody was privileged. There were only privileged people. The others would all be condemned one day. And he would be condemned, too. 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. To feel it so like myself, indeed, so brotherly, made me realize that Id been happy, and that I was happy still. The Stranger by Albert Camus
Posted on: Sun, 01 Dec 2013 15:41:01 +0000
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