THE MYTH OF SISYPHUS
by Albert Camus (1913-1966)
It is during that return, that pause, that Sisyphus interests me. A face that toils so close to stones is
already stone itself! I see that man going back down with a heavy, yet measured step toward the torment of
which he will never know the end. That hour like a breathing-space which returns as surely as his suffering,
that is the hour of consciousness. At each of those moments when he leaves the heights and gradually sinks
toward the lairs of the gods, he is superior to his fate. He is stronger than his rock.
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