In my book "Flatland Blues" I ask myself and readers few times who and how long is going to remember us? I pointed that noone remember any more actors from the silent movies or Nobel prize winners? And only these days I have found this part in Albert Camus's "The Myth of Sisyphus".
"The actor’s realm is that of the fleeting. Of all kinds of fame, it is known, his is the most ephemeral. At least, this is said in conversation. But all kinds of fame are ephemeral. From the point of view of Sirius, Goethe’s works in ten thousand years will be dust and his name forgotten. Perhaps a handful of archologists will look for “evidence” as to our era. That idea has always contained a lesson. Seriously meditated upon, it reduces our perturbations to the profound nobility that is found in indiference. Above all, it directs our concerns toward what is most certain—that is, toward the immediate. Of all kinds of fame the least deceptive is the one that is lived"
This session resonates with me not just because of the same topic we discuss but also because I agree with Camus regarding actors. I believe that is one of the worst jobs in the entire universe and kind of punishment.
Camus also writes: "A writer has some hope even if he is not appreciated."
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