>>520229288
All Sisyphus' silent joy is contained therein. His fate belongs to him. His rock is a 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 efforts 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 become 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.