Camus, Albert - The Stranger

[法] 阿尔贝·加缪


I was pouring out on him everything that was in my heart, cries of anger and cries of joy. He seemed so certain about everything, didn’t he? And yet none of his certainties was worth one hair of a woman’s head. He wasn’t even sure he was alive, because he was living like a dead man. Whereas it looked as if I was the one who’d come up emptyhanded.


waiting for your feedback
waiting for your feedback
waiting for your feedback
waiting for your feedback
waiting for your feedback