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Return to Tipasa
Unknown Binding
First published January 1, 1950
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About the author
Albert Camus
1,075 books37.6k followersWorks, such as the novels
The Stranger
(1942) and
The Plague
(1947), of Algerian-born French writer and philosopher Albert Camus concern the absurdity of the human condition; he won the Nobel Prize of 1957 for literature.
Origin and his experiences of this representative of non-metropolitan literature in the 1930s dominated influences in his thought and work.
He also adapted plays of Pedro Calderón de la Barca, Lope de Vega, Dino Buzzati, and Requiem for a Nun of William Faulkner. One may trace his enjoyment of the theater back to his membership in l'Equipe, an Algerian group, whose "collective creation" Révolte dans les Asturies (1934) was banned for political reasons.
Of semi-proletarian parents, early attached to intellectual circles of strongly revolutionary tendencies, with a deep interest, he came at the age of 25 years in 1938; only chance prevented him from pursuing a university career in that field. The man and the times met: Camus joined the resistance movement during the occupation and after the liberation served as a columnist for the newspaper Combat.
The essay Le Mythe de Sisyphe (The Myth of Sisyphus), 1942, expounds notion of acceptance of the absurd of Camus with "the total absence of hope, which has nothing to do with despair, a continual refusal, which must not be confused with renouncement - and a conscious dissatisfaction."
Meursault, central character of L'Étranger (The Stranger), 1942, illustrates much of this essay: man as the nauseated victim of the absurd orthodoxy of habit, later - when the young killer faces execution - tempted by despair, hope, and salvation.
Besides his fiction and essays, Camus very actively produced plays in the theater (e.g., Caligula, 1944).
The time demanded his response, chiefly in his activities, but in 1947, Camus retired from political journalism.
Doctor Rieux of La Peste (The Plague), 1947, who tirelessly attends the plague-stricken citizens of Oran, enacts the revolt against a world of the absurd and of injustice, and confirms words: "We refuse to despair of mankind. Without having the unreasonable ambition to save men, we still want to serve them."
People also well know La Chute (The Fall), work of Camus in 1956.
Camus authored L'Exil et le royaume (Exile and the Kingdom) in 1957. His austere search for moral order found its aesthetic correlative in the classicism of his art. He styled of great purity, intense concentration, and rationality.
Camus died at the age of 46 years in a car accident near Sens in le Grand Fossard in the small town of Villeblevin.
Chinese 阿尔贝·加缪
Origin and his experiences of this representative of non-metropolitan literature in the 1930s dominated influences in his thought and work.
He also adapted plays of Pedro Calderón de la Barca, Lope de Vega, Dino Buzzati, and Requiem for a Nun of William Faulkner. One may trace his enjoyment of the theater back to his membership in l'Equipe, an Algerian group, whose "collective creation" Révolte dans les Asturies (1934) was banned for political reasons.
Of semi-proletarian parents, early attached to intellectual circles of strongly revolutionary tendencies, with a deep interest, he came at the age of 25 years in 1938; only chance prevented him from pursuing a university career in that field. The man and the times met: Camus joined the resistance movement during the occupation and after the liberation served as a columnist for the newspaper Combat.
The essay Le Mythe de Sisyphe (The Myth of Sisyphus), 1942, expounds notion of acceptance of the absurd of Camus with "the total absence of hope, which has nothing to do with despair, a continual refusal, which must not be confused with renouncement - and a conscious dissatisfaction."
Meursault, central character of L'Étranger (The Stranger), 1942, illustrates much of this essay: man as the nauseated victim of the absurd orthodoxy of habit, later - when the young killer faces execution - tempted by despair, hope, and salvation.
Besides his fiction and essays, Camus very actively produced plays in the theater (e.g., Caligula, 1944).
The time demanded his response, chiefly in his activities, but in 1947, Camus retired from political journalism.
Doctor Rieux of La Peste (The Plague), 1947, who tirelessly attends the plague-stricken citizens of Oran, enacts the revolt against a world of the absurd and of injustice, and confirms words: "We refuse to despair of mankind. Without having the unreasonable ambition to save men, we still want to serve them."
People also well know La Chute (The Fall), work of Camus in 1956.
Camus authored L'Exil et le royaume (Exile and the Kingdom) in 1957. His austere search for moral order found its aesthetic correlative in the classicism of his art. He styled of great purity, intense concentration, and rationality.
Camus died at the age of 46 years in a car accident near Sens in le Grand Fossard in the small town of Villeblevin.
Chinese 阿尔贝·加缪
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 46 reviews
April 15, 2021
Scoured the internet and finally found both the French and English versions of this essay. After reading both, I have to admit that the original French retains a certain melody that the English translation lacks.
French: http://www.arts.chula.ac.th/doc/pr/2.pdf
Au milieu de l'hiver, j'apprenais enfin qu'il y avait en moi un été invincible.
French: http://www.arts.chula.ac.th/doc/pr/2.pdf
Au milieu de l'hiver, j'apprenais enfin qu'il y avait en moi un été invincible.
June 2, 2018
Maybe the best essay I've ever read
June 13, 2018
"That distance, those years separating the warm ruins from the barbed wire were to be found in me, too, that day as I stood before the sarcophaguses full of black water or under the sodden tamarisks"
Camus is nostalgic in this one and makes me reminisce my most loved place, which isn't the same over years of aging along with me.
Oh, how he keeps coming back to it and narrating as a lover's agony of parting from the beloved to join them years later only to part again in some time for a misfortune befallen.
And awake now, I recognized one by one the imperceptible sounds of which the silence was made up: the figured bass of the birds, the sea’s faint, brief sighs at the foot of the rocks, the vibration of the trees, the blind singing of the columns, the rustling of the wormwood plants, the furtive lizards. I heard that; I also listened to the happy torrents rising within me.
The vivid imagery descriptions along with his feels entangled. Camus is one capable of delineating any emotion possible. Oh, how absurd! How simply he conveys that we are a society dying of the misfortune of not loving and way too much hatred! How beautifully he conveys where the secret of his tranquility lies and where he wishes to return eventually! How phenomenal is Camus!
Ending this on another quote from the book,
For there is merely bad luck in not being loved; there is misfortune in not loving.
Camus is nostalgic in this one and makes me reminisce my most loved place, which isn't the same over years of aging along with me.
Oh, how he keeps coming back to it and narrating as a lover's agony of parting from the beloved to join them years later only to part again in some time for a misfortune befallen.
And awake now, I recognized one by one the imperceptible sounds of which the silence was made up: the figured bass of the birds, the sea’s faint, brief sighs at the foot of the rocks, the vibration of the trees, the blind singing of the columns, the rustling of the wormwood plants, the furtive lizards. I heard that; I also listened to the happy torrents rising within me.
The vivid imagery descriptions along with his feels entangled. Camus is one capable of delineating any emotion possible. Oh, how absurd! How simply he conveys that we are a society dying of the misfortune of not loving and way too much hatred! How beautifully he conveys where the secret of his tranquility lies and where he wishes to return eventually! How phenomenal is Camus!
Ending this on another quote from the book,
For there is merely bad luck in not being loved; there is misfortune in not loving.
October 10, 2020
First there was Medea:
You sailed away from your father’s dwelling
With your heart on fire, Medea! And you passed
Between the rocky gates of the seas;
And now you sleep on a foreign shore.
Then there was Camus:
It is a time of exile, dry lives, dead souls. To come back to life, we need grace, a homeland, or to forget ourselves. On certain mornings, as we turn a corner, an exquisite dew falls on our heart and then vanishes. But the freshness lingers, and this, always, is what the heart needs. I had to come back once again.
And me:
Is being an immigrant the same as an exile? Is there any difference for being voluntary? In the end, the cleavage is inconsolable. One is two, and never whole.
You sailed away from your father’s dwelling
With your heart on fire, Medea! And you passed
Between the rocky gates of the seas;
And now you sleep on a foreign shore.
Then there was Camus:
It is a time of exile, dry lives, dead souls. To come back to life, we need grace, a homeland, or to forget ourselves. On certain mornings, as we turn a corner, an exquisite dew falls on our heart and then vanishes. But the freshness lingers, and this, always, is what the heart needs. I had to come back once again.
And me:
Is being an immigrant the same as an exile? Is there any difference for being voluntary? In the end, the cleavage is inconsolable. One is two, and never whole.
December 31, 2020
Camus is at his best here. An absolutely beautiful and poetic piece about discovering the "invincible summer" that has always lied within you. It is not a particular moment in your past or a goal you have for your future, but it is something you have inside. Those beautiful, absurd, moments where you feel most connected to your soul and living and you feel a blissful joy...those moments create a foundation of happiness, an "invincible summer", that can bless our entire lifetime and illuminate our entire existence, regardless of the dark moments. This is a life-changing piece and a wonderful gift from Camus.
November 25, 2023
Een wonderlijk persoonlijk essay. Terwijl Camus in de gietende regen terugkeert naar zijn Algerijnse geboortedorp overdenkt hij zijn leven en de oorlogen van zijn tijd. Op 15 bladzijden zitten een vijftal passages die je op een andere manier doen kijken en waar je naar wil teruggrijpen. Ik geef maar één voorbeeld, die mij nu het meest actueel lijkt: 'Dans la clameur où nous vivons, l'amour est impossible et la justice ne suffit pas. C'est pourquoi l'Europe hait le jour et ne sait qu'opposer l'injustice à elle-même.'
February 5, 2025
Beautifully written. Camus reminds us that the past is never truly gone. No matter how much change time has brought, it lives on in our hearts, in our memories, and in the very fabric of our being. Whether we are revisiting a city or a moment in time, that younger version of ourselves is always there, waiting to be remembered.
"In the middle of winter, I at last discovered that there was in me an invincible summer".
"In the middle of winter, I at last discovered that there was in me an invincible summer".
November 26, 2019
Evocative and heartfelt. I find myself, as always, awed at the way Albert Camus writes.
July 30, 2025
"In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer."
I see this essay as a terrible nostalgic longing. For a place, a time, a feeling once lived and untouched by the pain of realized suffering.
The setting is rainy Algiers, once ruled by the sun. The city of summers. And always, the constant reminder of our return to Tipasa. The lingering memory of a place and of who we once were, before all this.
We speak of feelings long passed, of faces long marked by time, and of the present. Of brothers devouring one another over delusions of justice. Oh, the injustices we commit in your name.
It is in these moments that the author appreciates the weather for nothing more than what it is and discovers, in the midst of a dark time, how infinitely strong he is.
I see this essay as a terrible nostalgic longing. For a place, a time, a feeling once lived and untouched by the pain of realized suffering.
The setting is rainy Algiers, once ruled by the sun. The city of summers. And always, the constant reminder of our return to Tipasa. The lingering memory of a place and of who we once were, before all this.
We speak of feelings long passed, of faces long marked by time, and of the present. Of brothers devouring one another over delusions of justice. Oh, the injustices we commit in your name.
It is in these moments that the author appreciates the weather for nothing more than what it is and discovers, in the midst of a dark time, how infinitely strong he is.
June 10, 2021
“I should like to shirk nothing and to faithfully keep a double memory. Yes, there is beauty and there are the humiliated. Whatever may be the difficulties of the undertaking, I should like to never be unfaithful to either one or the others.”
Hành trình đọc của tôi tính đến giờ giống như một vòng tròn: thích Camus, nghi ngờ Camus, không ưa những ai tôn thờ Camus nhưng rồi lại hâm mộ ông lần nữa. Những tháng ngày sắp tới sẽ phải dành thời gian để đọc thêm về con người này.
Hành trình đọc của tôi tính đến giờ giống như một vòng tròn: thích Camus, nghi ngờ Camus, không ưa những ai tôn thờ Camus nhưng rồi lại hâm mộ ông lần nữa. Những tháng ngày sắp tới sẽ phải dành thời gian để đọc thêm về con người này.
December 6, 2025
“In the middle of winter I at last discovered that there was in me an invincible summer.” 😭
September 19, 2019
,,რატომ ვთქვა უარი სიცოცხლის სიხარულზე, თუ სიცოცხლის სიხარული არ გამორიცხავს ჩემთვის ყველაფერ დანარჩენს?''
December 3, 2017
"In the middle of winter I at last discovered there was in me an invincible summer."
March 24, 2024
Land of One’s Youth
18 March 2024
This is another short essay about a place where Camus had visited when he was young, but hadn’t been to in quite a while. In a way it feels that it is a story about how places change, or rather how you change and when you return the place you remember is no longer the same as it was.
Actually, he writes that he left in September 1939, which happened to be when the Nazis began storming across Europe. When they eventually captured France all of its colonies also came under their sway, which included Algeria. In fact, he describes the place as being surrounded by barbed wire, but the suggestion has more to do with the arise of authoritarian rule as opposed to literal barbed wire. In a sense, it happens to be a barrier that has been erected.
He says that he had been back once before in the twenty years since he first left, but there are always these images of what it was like back then, and what it is like now. The thing is that places change, but also the memories that we have of a place tend to decay when we return and discover that everything is different. But then again, the change is also within us. Like, we change, we grow older, and things that we remember from our youth, especially places that have some enchanting charms are no longer the case.
Like I remember some old mines at the back end of a national park near where I grew up. When I was a teenager, we used to crawl through them, exploring to the far reaches. I returned thirty years after and discovered that I could no longer get into them. I guess in part was because I was much bigger, but I also suspect that the mines themselves had started to collapse as well. I remember wanting to crawl back into them, but I discovered I couldn’t. Yes, it was rather disappointing to be honest.
18 March 2024
This is another short essay about a place where Camus had visited when he was young, but hadn’t been to in quite a while. In a way it feels that it is a story about how places change, or rather how you change and when you return the place you remember is no longer the same as it was.
Actually, he writes that he left in September 1939, which happened to be when the Nazis began storming across Europe. When they eventually captured France all of its colonies also came under their sway, which included Algeria. In fact, he describes the place as being surrounded by barbed wire, but the suggestion has more to do with the arise of authoritarian rule as opposed to literal barbed wire. In a sense, it happens to be a barrier that has been erected.
He says that he had been back once before in the twenty years since he first left, but there are always these images of what it was like back then, and what it is like now. The thing is that places change, but also the memories that we have of a place tend to decay when we return and discover that everything is different. But then again, the change is also within us. Like, we change, we grow older, and things that we remember from our youth, especially places that have some enchanting charms are no longer the case.
Like I remember some old mines at the back end of a national park near where I grew up. When I was a teenager, we used to crawl through them, exploring to the far reaches. I returned thirty years after and discovered that I could no longer get into them. I guess in part was because I was much bigger, but I also suspect that the mines themselves had started to collapse as well. I remember wanting to crawl back into them, but I discovered I couldn’t. Yes, it was rather disappointing to be honest.
June 18, 2024
Ein zehnseitiger Essay, der zugleich eine sprachlich vielschichtige wie auch hoffnungsstiftende Liebeserklärung an das innere Selbst darstellt. In diesem Essay reflektiert Camus über seine Erinnerungen an die Ruinen von Tipasa, sowohl als Kind als auch als Erwachsener nach dem Zweiten Weltkrieg. Während er bei seinem ersten Besuch von den Veränderungen enttäuscht ist, findet er bei seinem zweiten Besuch, wonach er sucht. Die Interpretation dieser Reflexion ist sicherlich für jeden unterschiedlich. Für mich offenbarte sich ein transzendenter Moment – eine Veränderung, die eigentlich keine ist, weil sie bereits ein unbekannter Teil von uns selbst ist.
Dieses "Erwachen" ist sprachlich äußerst kraftvoll. Der Herzschlag, ein vergessenes Geräusch, das nun wieder hörbar wird. Die Geräusche der Natur und der Umwelt, die uns daran erinnern, wie wir manchmal taub gegenüber uns selbst und unseren Mitmenschen sind. Das Schöne ist das mediierende Element zwischen dem Selbst und der Natur – ein Einfluss ohne direkten Eingriff.
Kurz vor seiner Abreise aus Tipasa wird etwas gesagt, das sich in der Originalsprache fast wie Musik anhört, und auch in der englischen Übersetzung seine wunderbare Wirkung nicht verliert (und eigentlich auch zunächst der einzige Grund für mich war, diesen Essay überhaupt in die Hand zu nehmen):
au milieu de l'hiver, j'ai découvert en moi un invincible été.
In the middle of winter I at last discovered that there was within me an invincible summer.
(habe es auf Englisch gelesen und bereue einmal mehr kein Französisch zu können)
5 bewundernde⭐ - und es steckt noch so viel mehr in diesem Schriftstück.
Dieses "Erwachen" ist sprachlich äußerst kraftvoll. Der Herzschlag, ein vergessenes Geräusch, das nun wieder hörbar wird. Die Geräusche der Natur und der Umwelt, die uns daran erinnern, wie wir manchmal taub gegenüber uns selbst und unseren Mitmenschen sind. Das Schöne ist das mediierende Element zwischen dem Selbst und der Natur – ein Einfluss ohne direkten Eingriff.
Kurz vor seiner Abreise aus Tipasa wird etwas gesagt, das sich in der Originalsprache fast wie Musik anhört, und auch in der englischen Übersetzung seine wunderbare Wirkung nicht verliert (und eigentlich auch zunächst der einzige Grund für mich war, diesen Essay überhaupt in die Hand zu nehmen):
au milieu de l'hiver, j'ai découvert en moi un invincible été.
In the middle of winter I at last discovered that there was within me an invincible summer.
(habe es auf Englisch gelesen und bereue einmal mehr kein Französisch zu können)
5 bewundernde⭐ - und es steckt noch so viel mehr in diesem Schriftstück.
December 20, 2020
- "When one has once had the good luck to love intensely, life is spent in trying to recapture that ardor and that illumination."
- "Isolated beauty ends up simpering; solitary justice ends up oppressing."
- "In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer."
- "I satisfied the two thirsts one cannot long neglect without drying up—I mean loving and admiring. For there is merely bad luck in not being loved; there is misfortune in not loving. All of us, today, are dying of this misfortune. For violence and hatred dry up the heart itself; the long fight for justice exhausts the love that nevertheless gave birth to it. In the clamor in which we live, love is impossible and justice does not suffice. This is why Europe hates daylight and is only able to set injustice up against injustice. But in order to keep justice from shriveling up like a beautiful orange fruit containing nothing but a bitter, dry pulp, I discovered once more at Tipasa that one must keep intact in oneself a freshness, a cool wellspring of joy, love the day that escapes injustice, and return to combat having won that light."
- "But perhaps someday, when we are ready to die of exhaustion and ignorance, I shall be able to disown our garish tombs and go and stretch out in the valley, under the same light, and learn for the last time what I know."
- "Isolated beauty ends up simpering; solitary justice ends up oppressing."
- "In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer."
- "I satisfied the two thirsts one cannot long neglect without drying up—I mean loving and admiring. For there is merely bad luck in not being loved; there is misfortune in not loving. All of us, today, are dying of this misfortune. For violence and hatred dry up the heart itself; the long fight for justice exhausts the love that nevertheless gave birth to it. In the clamor in which we live, love is impossible and justice does not suffice. This is why Europe hates daylight and is only able to set injustice up against injustice. But in order to keep justice from shriveling up like a beautiful orange fruit containing nothing but a bitter, dry pulp, I discovered once more at Tipasa that one must keep intact in oneself a freshness, a cool wellspring of joy, love the day that escapes injustice, and return to combat having won that light."
- "But perhaps someday, when we are ready to die of exhaustion and ignorance, I shall be able to disown our garish tombs and go and stretch out in the valley, under the same light, and learn for the last time what I know."
January 31, 2025
"Turbulent childhood, adolescent daydreams in the drone of the bus’s motor, mornings, unspoiled girls, beaches, young muscles always at the peak of their effort, evening’s slight anxiety in a sixteen-year-old heart, lust for life, fame, and ever the same sky throughout the years, unfailing in strength and light, itself insatiable, consuming one by one over a period of months the victims stretched out in the form of crosses on the beach at the deathlike hour of noon."
Part of me doesn't want to log this because it is truly a 10-minute all-too-short essay, but it is not only an important piece but a beautiful depiction of nostalgia and the hope of change. Living in the unfortunate times we do now, reading Camus' hope within his soul despite his known take on absurdism and not having a soul at all, is more important than ever. Even through hardship and the drought of empathy plaguing the world, there is love and faith we can always return to -- ultimately existing as the solution to find ourselves and each other again. Camus has the gentle voice of nostalgia even amongst ruin, and it was so prominent here that NOT logging it would pain me bad.
Part of me doesn't want to log this because it is truly a 10-minute all-too-short essay, but it is not only an important piece but a beautiful depiction of nostalgia and the hope of change. Living in the unfortunate times we do now, reading Camus' hope within his soul despite his known take on absurdism and not having a soul at all, is more important than ever. Even through hardship and the drought of empathy plaguing the world, there is love and faith we can always return to -- ultimately existing as the solution to find ourselves and each other again. Camus has the gentle voice of nostalgia even amongst ruin, and it was so prominent here that NOT logging it would pain me bad.
March 4, 2021
"In the middle of winter, I at last discovered that there was in me an invincible summer."
"When one has once had the good luck to love intensely, life is spent in trying to recapture that ardour and that illumination."
These two quotes from this essay would be enough to give a hint about the tone in which the town of Tipasa reveals itself through Camus' own inner landscape.
I can claim to have read quite a few essays, however I cannot claim to have read an essay as lyrical and as soul-searching as 'Return to Tipasa'.
I will rest my case at that. Saying anything more would amount to saying too much, which I fear I already have, about something that demands to be experienced by a reader for oneself.
"When one has once had the good luck to love intensely, life is spent in trying to recapture that ardour and that illumination."
These two quotes from this essay would be enough to give a hint about the tone in which the town of Tipasa reveals itself through Camus' own inner landscape.
I can claim to have read quite a few essays, however I cannot claim to have read an essay as lyrical and as soul-searching as 'Return to Tipasa'.
I will rest my case at that. Saying anything more would amount to saying too much, which I fear I already have, about something that demands to be experienced by a reader for oneself.
June 19, 2025
I truly don’t know where to start. This is by far one of the most beautiful essays I’ve ever red. Camus, in this text, feels less like the absurdist we all know and love, and more like a boy hopelessly in love with life, even as life turns its back on him. Reminds me a lot of him with Maria Casares. There’s something naive, yes, but also deeply courageous about it. He walks through a world void of hope, void of love, void of any reciprocity… and still he sees beauty. Still he insists on loving it. Not because it loves him back, it doesn’t, but because loving, despite everything, is the only form of freedom he knows.
October 1, 2025
Behind the landscape and ruins, there was Camus standing admitted that he had been through war and despair. The shapes destroyed and earth filled the air with a breeze of memoir in Tipasa. Yet, he found himself the beauty stays among the uncertainty, it was going nowhere, it was inside him all along. In the midst of winter, he said, he found there was within him, an invincible summer.
Currently my favorite short writing among another. The way he romanticized every senses, not forcing the emotions, only him, and the way he took that moment personally. When there are pain and helplessness around the world, surrounding us, will we still be able to find the kindness and beauty within?
Currently my favorite short writing among another. The way he romanticized every senses, not forcing the emotions, only him, and the way he took that moment personally. When there are pain and helplessness around the world, surrounding us, will we still be able to find the kindness and beauty within?
September 13, 2019
"To be sure, it is sheer madness, almost always punished, to return to the sites of one's youth and try to relive at forty what one loved or keenly enjoyed at twenty."
Camus is at his best in this essay -- both nostalgic and sweetly morose. Reading Camus now is a completely different experience at every stage of my life. What I found in his prose in my teens, then early twenties, is completely different now that I am in my 30s. A true master of the written word, and of capturing the human condition.
Camus is at his best in this essay -- both nostalgic and sweetly morose. Reading Camus now is a completely different experience at every stage of my life. What I found in his prose in my teens, then early twenties, is completely different now that I am in my 30s. A true master of the written word, and of capturing the human condition.
June 27, 2017
Return to Tipasa is itself a masterpiece. Camus is a bit nostalgic here. Tipasa helps him to recapture his early days. He is so amazed by the grace of Tipasa that he says he can disown the garish monuments of European culture. The summer and the humidity of nature can last at the end of time but not the human-made lusts. Camus cognizance may rattle the walls of mansions and tombs and the triumph is of eternal beauty.
August 9, 2022
[For violence and hatred dry up the heart itself; the long fight for justice exhausts the love that nevertheless gave birth to it].
________________________________________
[Whoever aims to serve one exclusive of the other serves no one, not even himself, and eventually serves injustice twice].
________________________________________
[Certain mornings, on turning a corner, a delightful dew falls on the heart and then evaporates].
________________________________________
[I wanted to see again the Chenoua, that solid, heavy mountain cut out of a single block of stone, which borders the bay of Tipasa to the west before dropping down into the sea itself].
________________________________________
[Whoever aims to serve one exclusive of the other serves no one, not even himself, and eventually serves injustice twice].
________________________________________
[Certain mornings, on turning a corner, a delightful dew falls on the heart and then evaporates].
________________________________________
[I wanted to see again the Chenoua, that solid, heavy mountain cut out of a single block of stone, which borders the bay of Tipasa to the west before dropping down into the sea itself].
September 2, 2022
“Consequently, I strive to forget, I walk in our cities of iron and fire, I smile bravely at the night, I hail the storms, I shall be faithful. I have forgotten, in truth: active and deaf, henceforth. But perhaps someday, when we are ready to die of exhaustion and ignorance, I shall be able to disown our garish tombs and go and stretch out in the valley, under the same light, and learn for the last time what I know.”
January 15, 2025
This essay beautifully captures the emotions of an aging man revisiting a place rich in memories from another time. Camus’s descriptive language vividly brings his hometown to life, reflecting his deep knowledge and intimate admiration for it. The piece resonates with a heartfelt sense of nostalgia and personal connection, making it a poignant and memorable read similar to his essay Summers in Algiers.
September 23, 2021
“Sin embargo, durante todos esos años, sentía oscuramente que me faltaba algo. Cuando se ha tenido una vez la suerte de amar hondamente uno se pasa la vida buscando de nuevo ese ardor y esa luz del amor.”
August 5, 2022
And with this book I remember absolutely nothing. There was a town. Someone was visiting the town. I was falling asleep and it was at this point that I was awake for the whole 24 hours of the day. Might be good, might be bad, I couldn't tell you.
May 26, 2023
Return to Camus,
I don't remember the first time I read this essay of Camus but it was a very long time ago. Now reread it again bringing a totally different stream of thought. I realize how old I am already and how fast time flies.
I don't remember the first time I read this essay of Camus but it was a very long time ago. Now reread it again bringing a totally different stream of thought. I realize how old I am already and how fast time flies.
November 28, 2023
I love this essay soooooo much. It has been the light and "the invincible summer" in my life. Whenever I feel depressed and disappointed at life, this essay can save me from the darkness. I wish I could always be touched by his words.
June 23, 2024
Very beautifuly written. I loved how he explained his longing for his home country, his grief over time and age, and how his country had become. His description of love was particularly special. I enjoyed every moment reading this.
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