I am on the hunt for constructions. I come into a room and find them whitely merging in a corner.
I am too tired, I must try to rest and sleep, otherwise I am lost in every respect. What an effort to keep alive! Erecting a monument does not require an expenditure of so much strength.
Love is a drama of contradictions.
Was he an animal, that music could move him so? He felt as if the way to the unknown nourishment he longed for were coming to light.
The door could not be heard slamming; they had probably left it open, as is the custom in homes where a great misfortune has occurred.
If they were shocked, then Gregor had no further responsibility and could be calm. But if they took everything calmly, he he, too, had no reason to get excited and could, if he hurried, actually be at the station by eight o’clock.
The Kafka paradox: art depends on truth, but truth, being indivisable, cannot know itself: to tell the truth is to lie. thus the writer is the truth, and yet when he speakes he lies.
Writer speaks a stench.
So eager are our people to obliterate the present.
How pathetically scanty my self-knowledge is compared with, say, my knowledge of my room. There is no such thing as observation of the inner world, as there is of the outer world.
It is only our conception of time that makes us call the Last Judgement by this name. It is, in fact, a kind of martial law.
In argument similes are like songs in love; they describe much, but prove nothing.
We are separated from God on two sides; the Fall separates us from Him, the Tree of Life separates Him from us.
Suffering is the positive element in this world, indeed it is the only link between this world and the positive.
My guiding principle is this: Guilt is never to be doubted.
If there is a transmigration of souls then I am not yet on the bottom rung. My life is a hesitation before birth.
Religions get lost as people do.
One must not cheat anyone, not even the world of its victory.
May I kiss you then? On this miserable paper? I might as well open the window and kiss the night air.
In theory there is a possibility of perfect happiness: To believe in the indestructible element within one, and not to strive towards it.