You know, a man always judges himself by the balance he can strike between the needs of his body and the demands of his mind. You’re judging yourself now, Mersault, and you don’t like the sentence. You live badly. Like a barbarian.’ He turned his head towards Patrice. ‘You like driving a car, don’t you?’

Camus continues his Nietzschean themes in being able to will the eternal recurrence as proof of one's sincerity or authenticity. Mersault tell Catherine: I want to thank you now,’ she says, ‘though I find it difficult to tell you how much this discovery overwhelms me. I’ll speak to my father tomorrow about “our” project, and you yourself may apply to him in a few days.’ But how can one die happy? Isn’t the death-process itself excruciating? What about the pain involved in dying, in letting go of this life, in saying our last goodbyes? Can one die happy? The major said “Charge!” and we ran down into a kind of gully, only with trees in it. He told us to charge, but no-one was there. So we just marched right on, kept on walking. And then all of a sudden these machine-guns are firing right into us. We all fall on top of each other. There were so many dead and wounded that you could have rowed a boat across the blood in that gully. Some of them kept screaming “Mama!” Christ, it was awful.’ And with pain and joy, their hearts learned to hear that double lesson which leads to a happy death.”Busch, Anita (June 12, 2017). "Universal, Blumhouse Retitle Film Half To Death To Happy Death Day". Deadline Hollywood. Catherine, for whom being naked meant ridding herself of inhibitions, took advantage of the Boy’s absences to undress on the terrace. And after staying out to watch the sky’s colours change, she announced at dinner with a kind of sensual pride: ‘I was naked in front of the world.’ What are you up to? Tell me about yourselves and describe the sun to a miserable wretch who has no roots anywhere and who remains your faithful Critics have pounced on the novel as both inferior literature and as a mere preparation for The Stranger. A Happy Death was written in the two years before The Stranger (1936-37) and we do have Mersault as the main character in each case. However, Happy Death has Patrice Mersault,

Philip, Tom (October 18, 2017). "Happy Death Day Star Jessica Rothe Explains What It's Like to Die a Dozen Times in the Same Movie". GQ . Retrieved October 19, 2017. It was very late now. Mersault could not tell what time it was — his head throbbed with feverish excitement. The heat and the harshness of the cigarette he had smoked filled his mouth. Even the light around him was an accomplice still. For the first time since Zagreus had begun his story, he glanced towards him: ‘I think I understand.’ Life often unfolds as a bittersweet veil, a tragedy for souls that feel, and a comedy for those who think, Meursault manages to do both (but thats every self-proclaimed existentialist ever, no?) Meursault here is definitely a more relatable character, always yearning for happiness but never knowing where to find it. He realized it was not about the end goal, what matters most is the friends he made all alo.. Wait, what? Whatever begins has to end, Meursault understood that to find happiness, one must comprehend the fragility of one's existence and then dances with the inevitability of its conclusion. In simple words: be authentic and live life with courage.

Exhausted by his long effort, the cripple was breathing hoarsely. After a silence he nonetheless said, laboriously: ‘I’d like to be sure. Don’t think I’m saying that money makes happiness. I only mean that for a certain class of beings happiness is possible, provided they have time, and that having money is a way of being free of money.’ The next day, departing from her usual practice, she came to his room after she had left her office. She found Mersault asleep and sat down at the foot of the brass bed without waking him. He was in his shirt-sleeves, which exposed the white underside of his muscular brown forearms. He was breathing regularly, chest and belly rising together. Two creases between his eyebrows gave him a look of strength and stubbornness she knew very well. His hair curled around his tanned forehead, in which a vein throbbed. Exposed this way, his arms lying close to his sides, one leg bent, he looked like a solitary and obstinate god, flung sleeping into an alien world. Staring at his sleep-swollen lips, she desired him, and just then Mersault half-opened his eyes and closed them again, saying without anger: ‘I don’t like being watched when I’m sleeping.’

Besides his fiction and essays, Camus very actively produced plays in the theater (e.g., Caligula, 1944).

Oh, you and your thinking,’ Marthe answered, not understanding, ‘if I paid any attention to you ...’