Albert Camus Quotes

When one is a stranger to oneself, then one is estranged from others, too.

I don't recognize my former self. Like I'm on the outside looking in at my life. Who is that guy?

Perhaps, as we say in America, I wanted to find myself. This is an interesting phrase, not current as far as I know in the language of any other people, which certainly does not mean what it says but betrays a nagging suspicion that something has been misplaced. I think now that if I had any intimation that the self I was going to find would turn out to be only the same self from which I had spent so much time in flight, I would have stayed at home.

I came alone and I go as a stranger. I do not know who I am, nor what I have been doing.

I am infinitely strange to myself.

Anybody can get lost in themselves.

When I read profiles of myself, I sometimes think: 'I have spent my whole life struggling to understand my motivations and impulses, and I've never quite sorted them out.'

I've always felt like an alien trapped in a human form. We all do at some time or other; for me it's a permanent state, and I'm still unsure if Earth is a penance or a reward.

I am a spy in the house of me. I report back from the front lines of the battle that is me. I am somewhat nonplused by the event that is my life.

I've had times in my life when I really haven't been able to figure myself out.

I stare at the mirror as I try to remember who I am and who I am not.

I'm always tripped up by the eternal who am I?

To become acquainted with oneself is a terrible shock.

Nobody knows you. You don't know yourself. And I, who am half in love with you, What am I in love with? My own imaginings?

I would give all I possess to get out of myself; but somehow, at the end, I find myself so vastly more interesting than nine tenths of the people I meet.

It was as though, in one moment, he had become a stranger. And I a stranger to myself.

Just wondering why I feel so all alone, why I'm a stranger in my own?

I was just struggling with my inner vachette and pondering the depths of my own inhumanity.

For years, copying other people, I tried to know myself. From within, I couldn't decide what to do. Unable to see, I heard my name being called. Then I walked outside.

All the time we wondered and wondered, who is this person coming/growing/turning/floating/swimming deep, deep inside.

Mr. Duffy lived a short distance from his body.

I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.

I feel myself becoming less a person than a place, inhabited, a foreign land.