Quotes About Kafka

Old Prague was a story-book city caked in grime: ancient, soot-blackened. History lived in every detail: in the deerstalker rooftops and the blue-sparking trams. He wandered the streets in disbelief, photographing everything, images from Kafka crowding into his head. With the turn of every corner it came back to him: the special frisson you get behind enemy lines.

As told by Kafka's close friend Max Brod: Suddenly he began to speak to the fish in their illuminated tanks. 'Now at least I can look at you in peace, I don't eat you anymore.' It was the time he turned strictly vegetarian.

Yo he escrito también algunos cuentos en los cuales traté ambiciosa e inultimente de ser Kafka

Porque Kafka descubre un nuevo modo de leer: la literatura le da forma a la experiencia vivida, la constituye como tal y la anticipa.

With the rain falling surgically against the roof, I ate a dish of ice cream that looked like Kafka's hat. It was a dish of ice cream tasting like an operating table with the patient staring up at the ceiling.

Everyone strives to attain the Law,' answers the man, 'how does it come about, then, that in all these years no one has come seeking admittance but me?' The doorkeeper perceives that the man is nearing his end and his hearing is failing, so he bellows in his ear: 'No one but you could gain admittance through this door, since this door was intended for you. I am now going to shut it.

those who care about literature and mind must know the Hebrew Bible, Donne, Sterne and Jane Austen, Coleridge and Wordsworth, Proust and Kafka, Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy, and (of course) Shakespeare, to start.

Kafka knew precisely what he did *not* want: he did not even consider becoming an attorney or using his linguistic gifts to earn a living. Having his afternoons free was more important to him than the prospects of bourgeois prosperity [...] He often appeared passive and overly despondent, yet he stuck to his avoidance schemes even when they posed critical challenges to his psyche. It was as though he were carrying a compass that pointed out to him nothing but the *wrong* direction

It seems absurd for a man of twenty-eight to renounce the pleasures of life, doing violence to his nature by a pure act of will. An untold number had done this before him for religious reasons, but Kafka had based his renunciation on nothing but a self-image. He claimed that for better or worse he was what he was, and that therefore much was out of the question for him

Passionless is vulgar ("Metier: Why I Don't Write Like Franz Kafka")

I have associated myself with failed scientists in order to associate myself with failed irony. ("Metier: Why I Don't Write Like Franz Kafka")

There is, in Kafka, a sort of sleep-worship; he regards sleep as a panacea.

For a good part of his [Kafka's] work consists of tentative steps toward perpetually changing possibilities of future. He does not acknowledge a single future, there are many; this multiplicity of futures paralyzes him and burdens his step.

It is not, however, only the word, it is also the thing, in all its infinite complexity, that he [Kafka] articulates with unrivaled courage and clarity. For, since he fears power in any form, since the real aim of his life is to withdraw from it, in whatever form it may appear, he detects it, identifies it, names it, and creates figures of it in every instance where others would accept it as being nothing out of the ordinary.

If anyone was ever cognizant of the need and function of 'litanies', it was Kafka.

He [Kafka] did not have for his private and interior processes that disregard which distinguishes insignificant writers from writers of imagination. A person who thinks that he is empowered to separate his inner world from the outer one has no inner world from which something might be separable.

Oh, m'encanta Kafka, diu la mare. Un llibre hauria de ser una destral per trencar el mar de gel de dins nostre. Penso que és una de les coses més boniques que s'han escrit mai.

The grid of Circuits I and II creates four quadrants. Note that Hostile Strength (the tyrant) is inclined to paranoid withdrawal; he must govern, but he is also afraid. Cf. the careers of Hitler, Stalin, Howard Hughes, etc. and the inaccessible Castle and Court in Kafka's allegories. Note also that the dependent neurotic is not in retreat at all; he or she advances upon you, demanding fulfillment of emotional "needs" (imprints).

To her data analysis was the ugly love child of science and Kafka

When I am not reading Kafka I am thinking about Kafka. When I am not thinking about Kafka I miss thinking about him. Having missed thinking about him for a while, I take him out and read him again. That's how it works.

My own interest in Kafka's letter came about when I was writing an article on Peter Ginz, the boy novelist held in Terezin, not far from Prague, and exterminated in Auschwitz by the Nazis. The Ginz family were from more or less the same milieu as the Kafkas.

ÇoÄŸu insan Kafka'n?n ihtiyar?na benzer. Umut ederler ama yüreklerinin sesini, itkisini dinleme ve ona göre davranma yetisinden yoksundurlar; bürokratlar onlara yeÅŸil ???k yakmad??? sürece beklerler de beklerler.

In Kafka we have the modern mind, seemingly self-sufficient, intelligent, skeptical, ironical, splendidly trained for the great game of pretending that the world it comprehends in sterilized sobriety is the only and ultimate real one – yet a mind living in sin with the soul of Abraham. Thus he knows Two things at once, and both with equal assurance: that there is no God, and that there must be God.

Nothing expresses Kafka's innermost sense of self more profoundly than his lapidary definition of "writing as a form of prayer": he was a writer. Not a man who wrote, but one to whom writing was the only form of being, the only means of defying death in life.