In a way, you are poetry material; You are full of cloudy subtleties I am willing to spend a lifetime figuring out. Words burst in your essence and you carry their dust in the pores of your ethereal i...
I see, these books are probably law books, and it is an essential part of the justice dispensed here that you should be condemned not only in innocence but also in ignorance.
His growing lack of concern for the others hardly surprised him, whereas previously he had prided himself on being considerate.
My guiding principle is this: Guilt is never to be doubted.
my heart no longer beats but is a tugging muscle,
Every word first looks around in every direction before letting itself be written down by me.
The meaning of life is that it stops.
فهل يوجد يا ميلينا، ثمة مكان في هذه الدنيا يسعه أن يطيق معي صبرًا
The crows assert that a single crow could destroy the heavens. This is certainly true, but it proves nothing against the heavens, because heaven means precisely: the impossibility of crows.
Someone must have been telling lies about Joseph K., for without having done anything wrong he was arrested one fine morning.
It is not necessary to accept everything as true, one must only accept it as necessary
I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us. If the book we’re reading doesn’t wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for?
I mustn't look at you too much, or I won't be able to take my eyes off you at all.
Faptele dumneavoastra vor lasa poate urme adînci de pasi în zapada, dar atît.
What I write is different from what I say, what I say is different from what I think, what I think is different from what I ought to think and so it goes further into the deepest darkness.
I do not speak as I think, I do not think as I should, and so it all goes on in helpless darkness.
I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us.
Evil does not exist; once you have crossed the threshold, all is good. Once in another world, you must hold your tongue.
Writing is utter solitude, the descent into the cold abyss of oneself.
All I am is literature, and I am not able or willing to be anything else.