That is love, to give away everything, to sacrifice everything, without the slightest desire to get anything in return.3
Interpretation
True love involves selfless giving without expecting anything in return.
This quote by Albert Camus encapsulates the essence of unconditional love, highlighting the notion that genuine love is characterized by a willingness to give oneself entirely and selflessly. It reflects the idea that love should not be transactional, and the purest form of affection comes from the heart, without the expectation of receiving something back in return.
In practice
This quote can be shared during a wedding ceremony to emphasize the importance of selfless love.
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.
She raised her eyes to his. They had both come from misery, she thought, and survived it. They had been drawn together through violence and tragedy, and had overcome it. They walked different paths and had found a mutual route. Some things last, she thought. Some ordinary things. Like love.
I define love thus: The will to extend one's self for the purpose of nurturing one's own or another's spiritual growth.
But he doesn't love her. I invented that. It is a plot if you imagine people in love--the lazy looping criss crosses of love, blows, stares, tears. No. It doesn't happen. No love. People meet, touch, stare into one another's faces, shake their heads clear, move on, forget. It doesn't happen.
When you engage in fulfilling the needs of others, your own needs are fulfilled as a by-product.
I dream of a love that is more than two people craving to possess one another.
He lifts her breasts, which fit perfectly into his hands, though he knows this is no promise that he gets to keep them. A million things you can't have will fit in a human hand.
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