Inspiraţia de un anume tip, pe care eu, cel mai fericit şi mai nefericit, o am acum, la două noaptea, când mă duc la culcare (ea va persista, poate, numai să suport să mă gândesc la ea, căci este supe...
In her opinion her singing falls on deaf ears anyway; there is no lack of enthusiasm and applause, but she has long since given up hope of genuine understanding as she conceives it.
I stand on the end platform of the tram and am completely unsure of my footing in this world, in this town, in my family. Not even casually could I indicate any claims that I might rightly advance in...
I feel an unhappiness which almost dismembers me, and at the same time am convinced of its necessity
I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.
I am not well; I could have built the Pyramids with the effort it takes me to cling on to life and reason.
I am always trying to convey something that can’t be conveyed, to explain something which is inexplicable, to tell about something I have in my bones, something which can be expressed only in the bone...
He had always believed that his father had not been able to save a penny from the business, at least his father had never told him anything to the contrary, and Gregor, for his part, had never asked h...
Each of us has his own way of emerging from the underworld, mine is by writing. That's why the only way I can keep going, if at all, is by writing, not through rest and sleep. I am far more likely to...
But sometimes I really felt as though the starry sky rose and fell with the gasping of his chest.
Anyway, it’s best not to think about them, as if you do it makes the discussions with the other lawyers, all their advice and all that they do manage to achieve, seem so unpleasant and useless, I had...
A man doesn’t need to fly to the sun, he need only find a patch of clean earth, and crawl there, and let the sun shine on him.
Writing is prayer.
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 speaks he lies.
The experience of life consists of the experience which the spirit has of itself in matter and as matter, in mind and as mind, in emotion, as emotion, etc.
فان فكره من الافكار لا يمكن ان تنقرض مهما كانت متطفله ,ما دامت قد وجدت ذات مره ,او انها لا يمكنها علي الاقل ان تنقرض دون صراع رهيب ,و دون ان تتمكن من تحقيق لنفسها دفاعا فعلا ينجح في ان يثبت طويلا
You've seen yourself how difficult the writing is to decipher with your eyes, but our man deciphers it with his wounds.
You will get to know me better; there are still a number of horrible recesses in me that you don’t know.
You can withdraw from the sufferings of the world — that possibility is open to you and accords with your nature — but perhaps that withdrawal is the only suffering you might be able to avoid.
What are our lungs supposed to do? I shouted. Shouted: If they breathe fast they suffocate themselves from inner poisons; if they breathe slowly they suffocate from unbreathable air, from outraged thi...