The Plague

by Albert Camus

At that moment, the collapse of their courage, their will, and their patience was so quick that it seemed they would never again climb out of this hole. As a result, they compelled themselves never to think of the date of their release, to no longer think of the future, and to keep their eyes down, so to speak. But, naturally, there were no rewards for this caution, this way of deceiving sorrow, of shutting down their defenses to refuse the fight. But while people held at bay the collapse they wanted to avoid at all costs, they deprived themselves of those moments, which were otherwise quite frequent, when they could forget the plague with images of their future reunion. And like this, stranded midway between these abysses and summits, they floated more than they lived, abandoned to directionless days and sterile memories, wandering shadows who could only gather strength by deciding to take root in the country of their sorrow. Like this, they experienced the deep suffering of all prisoners and all exiles, which is to live with a useless memory.

Camus' idea of worthless living, going through the motions