Does anyone know where the quote is actually from? I tried to scour the web for the actual source, but it seems one that keeps getting quoted without a reference to its origins.

There were a couple that tried to tie it to The Outsider / The Stranger, but I can't see it in there...

*Edit:

As feared, this is another interweb meme that is actually not a quote by Camus.

A positive that has come out of this, however, is that TA (many thanks!) found the following paper on how Camus is misquoted on the web and in literature. It makes for really interesting reading.

All of these titles, in different moods and at different ages, have made me laugh in public.

When I was a teenager, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy was the book all the other teens were reading, and it was hilarious.  My parents gave me My Life and Hard Times at that age, and it was a wonderful, very funny memoir of growing up in the midwest a century ago, from one of the founders of The New Yorker (not to be missed: "the dog that bit people" and "the night the bed fell").

Encountered as an older adolescent, and again in college anthropology, Motel of the Mysteries had me laughing non-stop (my roommates, too, as I recall).  The illustrations are half the fun.  At about this time I also read The Code of the Woosters, a masterpiece by P.G. Wodehouse.

More recently I've read, loved, and laughed at Poetry for Cats and Lucky Jim.  (The latter I was reading while visiting my father; he heard me howling with laughter from upstairs and then nodded with understanding when my answer to "What's so funny?" was "Lucky Jim." He gave it to me, by the way.)  

These are all great reads, and have very orange covers: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, To Kill a Mockingbird, and The Sun Also Rises.

For reading by a roaring fire, when it's cold outside, my tastes tend toward the long epic - The Lord of the Rings or The Count of Monte Cristo would both be good reads for that.

Both parents: Bleak House.  Father: Lucky Jim.  Mother: Dombey and Son.  (Love all of them, by the way.)

Still unread, because I'm still afraid of George Eliot after a nasty, nasty experience 30 years ago: Middlemarch.

(My parents recommend me classics; they're English professors.)