THE MYTH OF SISYPHUS
by Albert Camus (1913-1966)
All Sisyphus' silent joy is contained therein. His fate belongs to him. His rock is his thing. Likewise,
the absurd man, when he contemplates his torment, silences all the idols. In the universe suddenly restored to
its silence, the myriad wondering little voices of the earth rise up. Unconscious, secret calls, invitations from all
the faces, they are the necessary reverse and price of victory. There is no sun without shadow, and it is essential
to know the night. The absurd man says yes and his effort will henceforth be unceasing. If there is a personal
fate, there is no higher destiny, or at least there is but one which he concludes is inevitable and despicable. For
the rest, he knows himself to be the master of his days. At that subtle moment when man glances backward
over his life, Sisyphus returning toward his rock, in that slight pivoting he contemplates that series of unrelated
actions which becomes his fate, created by him, combined under his memory's eye and soon sealed by his death.
Thus, convinced of the wholly human origin of all that is human, a blind man eager to see who knows that the
night has no end, he is still on the go. The rock is still rolling..
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