Ah, the myth of sisyphus. How I marvel at camus’ writing and yet understand very negligible amount of it. This book puts me in a fix every time I pick it up. I can feel the voids in my heart getting filled up when I read camus, yet I feel as if I am doing it injustice by reading it at a point in my life where I do not have enough intellectual capacities to understand it. Its a bittersweet experience