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Written kisses don't reach their destination, rather they are drunk on the way by the ghosts.

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
František Kafka
Kafka
Ghost
Drunk
Kissing
Reach
Written
Rather
Kisses
Way
Ghosts
Destination

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The ulterior motives with which you absorb and assimilate Evil are not your own but those of Evil.
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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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The relationship to one's fellow man is the relationship of prayer, the relationship to oneself is the relationship of striving it is from prayer that one draws the strength for one's striving.
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Two tasks at the beginning of your life: to narrow your orbit more and more, and ever and again to check whether you are not in hiding somewhere outside your orbit.
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Should I be grateful or should I curse the fact that despite all misfortune I can still feel love, an unearthly love but still for earthly objects.
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A picture of my existence... would show a useless wooden stake covered in snow... stuck loosely at a slant in the ground in a ploughed field on the edge of a vast open plain on a dark winter night.
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In the fight between you and the world, back the world.
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Leop­ards break in­to the tem­ple and drink all the sac­ri­fi­cial ves­sels dry it keeps hap­pen­ing in the end, it can be cal­cu­lat­ed in ad­vance and is in­cor­po­rat­ed in­to the rit­ual.
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I carry the bars within me.
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I never imagined that so many days would ultimately make such a small life.
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We were created in order to live in Paradise, and Paradise was ordained to serve us. What was ordained for us has been changed it is not said that this has also happened with what was ordained for Paradise.
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I am a retiring, silent, unsociable, and discontent person.
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I won't give up the diary again. I must hold on here, it is the only place I can.
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If I shall exist eternally, how shall I exist tomorrow?
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I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us. If the book we are reading doesn't wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for?
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We need the books that affect us like a disaster
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