Every winter ends in a spring

I know that now I am going to write. There comes a time when the tree, after much suffering, must bear fruit. Every winter ends in a spring. I must bear witness. Afterwards, the cycle will start up again.

I shall tell of nothing but my love of life. But I shall tell of it in my own way....

Others write because of the temptations they have put off. And each disappointment in life makes a work of art for them, a lie woven out of the lies of their life. But what I write will spring from my moments of happiness, even when what I write is cruel. I must write as I must swim, because my body demands it.

--Albert Camus, Notebooks 1935-1942 (1962; trans. Philip Thody)