Quotes from Franz Kafka

I waver, continually fly to the summit of the mountain, but cannot stay up there for more than a moment. Others waver too, but in lower regions, with greater strength; if they are in danger of falling, they are caught up by the kinsman who walks beside them for that purpose. But I waver on the heights; it is not death, alas, but the eternal torments of dying.

my heart no longer beats but is a tugging muscle

Ocurrió que el cerebro no pudo soportar más las preocupaciones y dolores que le habían sido impuestos. Y entonces dijo: Me doy por vencido; pero si alguien sigue interesado en mantener la unidad, que me alivie y recoja parte de mi carga; así tiraremos un poco más.

Altogether, I think we ought to read only books that bite and sting us. If the book we are reading doesn't shake us awake like a blow to the skull, why bother reading it in the first place? So that it can make us happy, as you put it? Good God, we'd be just as happy if we had no books at all; books that make us happy we could, in a pinch, also write ourselves.

Everything appears to me to be an artificial construction of the mind. Every mark by someone else, every chance look throws everything in me over on the other side, even what has been forgotten, even what is entirely insignificant. I am more uncertain than I ever was; I feel only the power of life. And I am senselessly empty.

Torment yourself as little as possible, then you'll torment me less.

No one will read what I write here, no one will come to help me... My ship is rudderless, it's driven by the wind blowing into the nethermost regions of death.

All the people who try to torment me, and who have now occupied the entire space around me, will quite gradually be thrust back by the beneficent passage of these days, without my having to help them even in the very least. And, as it will come about quite naturally, I can be weak and quiet and let everything happen to me, and yet everything must turn out well, through the sheer fact of the passing of days.

Accept your symptoms, don't complain of them; immerse yourself in your suffering.

How suicidal happiness can be!

It is often safer to be in chains than to be free.

But you get used to the air alright in the end. When you're here for the second or third time you'll hardly notice how oppressive the air is.

Leo en Dostoievski el pasaje que tanto se asemeja a ser desdichado

Hiding places there are innumerable, escape is only one, but possibilities of escape, again, are as many as hiding places.

Düz bir yolda yürüyor olsayd?n, tüm ilerleme isteÄŸine raÄŸmen hala gerisin geriye gitseydin, o zaman bu çaresiz bir durum olurdu; ama sen dik, senin de aÅŸa??dan gördüÄŸün gibi dik bir yamac? t?rmand???na göre, ad?mlar?n?n geriye doÄŸru kaymas?, bulunduÄŸun yerin durumundan ileri gelebilir, o zaman da umutsuzluÄŸa kap?lmana gerek yoktur.

Yet Gregor's sister was playing so beautifully. Her face was leant to one side, following the lines of music with a careful and melancholy expression. Gregor crawled a little further forward, keeping his head close to the ground so that he could meet her eyes if the chance came.

All right then, I'll be mad at you on this score, which incidentally is no great misfortune, as things balance out quite well if there's a little anger for you lurking in one corner of my heart.

In a light that is fierce and strong one can see the world dissolve. To weak eyes it becomes solid, to weaker eyes it shows fists; before weaker eyes still it feels ashamed, and smites down whomsoever dares to look at it.

It is to us artisans and tradesmen that the salvation of the fatherland is entrusted; but we are not equal to such a task; never, indeed, have we claimed that we were capable of performing it. It is a misunderstanding; and it is proving our ruin.

I can't hold enough of you in my hands.

Evil is the starry sky of the Good.

it's impossible to understand how my breast could expand and contract to breathe this air, it's impossible to understand how you can be far away.

I wish I had a strong hand for the sole purpose of thrusting it into this incoherent construction that I am. And yet what I am saying here is not even precisely my opinion, not even precisely my opinion at this moment. When I look into myself I see so much that is obscure and still in flux that I cannot even properly explain or fully accept the dislike I feel for myself.

Looking on oneself as something alien, forgetting the sight, remembering the gaze.