Rebellion cannot exist without the feeling that somewhere, in some way, you are justified.
Interpretation
Rebellion arises from a sense of justification or belief that one's actions are right.
Albert Camus suggests that rebellion is inherently linked to a feeling of justification. When individuals rebel, it is often because they believe that their cause or perspective is valid in the face of oppression or injustice, indicating a deep sense of moral or ethical conviction driving their actions.
In practice
In a speech about social justice, one might quote Camus to emphasize the importance of feeling justified in fighting for rights.
The Poor Man whom everyone speaks of, the Poor Man whom everyone pities, one of the repulsive Poor from whom charitable souls keep their distance, he has still said nothing. Or, rather, he has spoken through the voice of Victor Hugo, Zola, Richepin. At least, they said so. And these shameful impostures fed their authors. Cruel irony, the Poor Man tormented with hunger feeds those who plead his case.
The certainty of a God giving meaning to life far surpasses in attractiveness the ability to behave badly with impunity. The choice would not be hard to make. But there is no choice and that is where the bitterness comes in. The absurd does not liberate; it binds.
Between history and the eternal I have chosen history because I like certainties. Of it, at least, I am certain, and how can I deny this force crushing me.
Don't wait for the last judgment - it takes place every day.
A single sentence will suffice for modern man. He fornicated and read the papers. After that vigorous definition, the subject will be, if I may say so, exhausted.
At times I feel myself overtaken by an immense tenderness for these people around me who live in the same century.
Beyond my anxiety, beyond this writing,_x000D_ the universe waits, inexhaustible, inviting.
I don't have no fear of death. My only fear is coming back reincarnated.
Time is a drug. Too much of it kills you.
I care not so much what I am to others as what I am to myself. I will be rich by myself, and not by borrowing.
The present flowed by them like a stream. The tree rustled. It had made music before they were born, and would continue after their deaths, but its song was of the moment. The moment had passed. The tree rustled again. Their senses were sharpened, and they seemed to apprehend life. Life passed. The tree rustled again.
Who are those people by whom you wish to be admired? Are they not these whom you are in the habit of saying that they are mad? What then? Do you wish to be admired by the mad?
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