motto lotto

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

"The Stranger"

priests in Rome
I was pouring out on him everything that was in my heart, cries of anger and cries of joy. He seemed so certain about everything, didn't he? And yet none of his certainties was worth one hair of a woman's head. He wasn't even sure he was alive, because he was living like a dead man.

The Stranger p. 120
I read The Stranger by Camus while we were in Mexico. I didn't like the writing style as much as The Rebel or The Plague. Chris seems to think my perspective amounts to sacrilege. Everything I've read by Camus so far is stunning. I wish I started reading him sooner.

1 comment:

Chris said...

As if that blind rage had set me free, rid me of hope, for the first time on that night alive with signs and stars I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. Finding it so much like myself, like a brother really, I felt that I was happy, and that I would be happy again. For everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, I needed only to hope there be a large crowd of spectators the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate."