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I write differently from what I speak, I speak differently from what I think, I think differently from the way I ought to think, and so it all proceeds into deepest darkness.
Franz Kafka
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Franz Kafka
Age: 41 †
Born: 1883
Born: July 3
Died: 1924
Died: July 3
Aphorist
Claims Adjuster
Diarist
Fabulist
Lawyer
Novelist
Poet Lawyer
Prosaist
Screenwriter
Short Story Writer
Translator
Writer
Praha
FrantiĊĦek Kafka
Kafka
Writing
Way
Proceeds
Think
Deepest
Thinking
Differently
Darkness
Ought
Speak
Write
More quotes by Franz Kafka
A book must be the ax for the frozen sea within us.
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I, however, cannot force myself to use meat drugs to cheat on my loneliness.
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Love has as few problems as a motor car. The only problems are the driver, the passengers, and the road.
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There are only two things. Truth and lies. Truth is indivisible, hence it cannot recognize itself anyone who wants to recognize it has to be a lie.
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Faith, like a guillotine. As heavy, as light.
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How can one take delight in the world unless one flees to it for refuge?
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A belief is like a guillotine, just as heavy, just as light.
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One reads in order to ask questions
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In theory there is a possibility of perfect happiness: To believe in the indestructible element within one, and not to strive towards it.
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Hold fast to the diary from today on! Write regularly! Don't surrender! Even if no salvation should come, I want to be worthy of it every moment.
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Evil is the radiation of the human consciousness in certain transitional positions. It is not actually the sensual world that is amere appearance what is so is the evil of it, which, admittedly, is what constitutes the sensual world in our eyes.
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Heaven is dumb, echoing only the dumb.
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If the book we are reading does not wake us, as with a fist hammering on our skull, why then do we read it?
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What am I doing here in this endless winter?
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All knowledge, the totality of all questions and answers, is contained in the dog.
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One has just been sent out as a biblical dove, has found nothing green, and slips back into the darkness of the Ark
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Going to pieces. To go to pieces so pointlessly and unnecessarily.
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The existence of the writer is an argument against the existence of the soul, for the soul has obviously taken flight from the real ego, but not improved itself, only become a writer.
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So eager are our people to obliterate the present.
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The man in ecstasy and the man drowning - both throw up their arms. The first to signify harmony, the second to signify strife with the elements.
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