At my age one's got to be sincere. Lying's too much effort. - Albert Camus

In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.

I don't want to be a genius-I have enough problems just trying to be a man.

He tried to recall what he had read about the disease. Figures floated across his memory, and he recalled that some thirty or so great plagues known to history had accounted for nearly a hundred million deaths. But what are a hundred million deaths? When one has served in a war, one hardly knows what a dead man is, after a while. And since a dead man has no substance unless one actually sees him dead, a hundred million corpses broadcast through history are no more than a puff of smoke in the imagination.