I have always longed and longed to own a sweet-shop.
The sweet shop of my dreams would be loaded from top to bottom with Sherbet Suckers and Caramel Fudge and Russian Toffee and Sugar Snorters and Butter Gumballs and thousands thousands of other glorious things like that.
He was always with a Gauloise in the hand or dangling from the corner of his mouth.
He even named his cat Cigarette.
He was born in Algeria and he left for Paris only on 1940 when the newspaper he was working ceased publication.
He was an enthusiastic goalkeeper until tuberculosis forced him to quit playing at age 17.
Later he picked up table-tennis. However he said that everything he knows about morality and the obligations of men “I owe to football”.
He won a nobel prize and his book” L’Etranger” has sold more copies than the French edition of Harry Potter.
Today he will have been 100years if he wasn’t killed in a car accident while driving with his publisher and friend Michel Gallimard who also died in the accident.
He is Albert Camus.