Quote

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.

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
Dark
Stuck
Stakes
Show
Winter
Plain
Night
Field
Edge
Shows
Ground
Covered
Ploughed
Would
Picture
Vast
Slant
Fields
Edges
Loosely
Open
Useless
Wooden
Existence
Snow
Stake

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The various forms of despair at the various stations on the road.
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So eager are our people to obliterate the present.
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They say ignorance is bliss.... they're wrong
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I miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly.
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We all have wings, but they have not been of any avail to us and if we could tear them off, we would do so.
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I can't feel a thing All mournful petal storms are dancing inside the very private spring of my head.
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First impressions are always unreliable.
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I wanted to escape the unrest, to shut out the voices around me and within me, so I write.
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One can disintegrate the world by means of very strong light. For weak eyes the world becomes solid, for still weaker eyes it seems to develop fists, for eyes weaker still it becomes shamefaced and smashes anyone who dares to gaze upon it.
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I do not speak as I think, I do not think as I should, and so it all goes on in helpless darkness.
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Two possibilities: making oneself infinitely small or being so. The second is perfection, that is to say, inactivity, the first is beginning, that is to say, action.
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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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Towards the avoidance of a piece of verbal confusion: What is intended to be actively destroyed must first of all have been firmly grasped what crumbles away crumbles away, but cannot be destroyed.
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Love is, that you are the knife which I plunge into myself.
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Slept, awoke, slept, awoke, miserable life.
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Now the Sirens have a still more fatal weapon than their song, namely their silence... someone might possibly have escaped from their singing but from their silence, certainly never.
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Suffering is the positive element in this world, indeed it is the only link between this world and the positive.
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No matter how much you keep encouraging someone who is blindfolded to stare through the cloth, he still won’t see a thing..
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We need the books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us.
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