Libro El Extranjero De Albert Camus -

He returned to Algiers. Went to the beach. Saw a film with Marie, a former typist who laughed at his silences. She asked if he loved her. He said the words had no meaning, but probably not. She asked if he would marry her. He said yes, if she wanted. It made no difference.

“I have only this life. I am sure of my death, and surer of my indifference. Your certainties are worth less than a woman’s tear. I am a stranger to you, to this world, to your God. But at least I am not a stranger to myself.”

For the first time—perhaps too late—he felt ready to live it all again. libro el extranjero de albert camus

He opened his mouth to the dawn.

The courtroom laughed. He did not understand why. He returned to Algiers

His lawyer begged him: “Say you were sad. Say you loved her. Cry. Please .”

The Arab was lying on the shore. A shimmer of water, a slash of shadow. Meursault took a step forward. The sun hit him like a long, silent scream. The trigger gave way like a sigh. She asked if he loved her

He thought of Marie, who would soon find another yes. Of Salamano, who lost his dog. Of the Arab, whose name he never learned.