black
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May I kiss you then? On this miserable paper? I might as well open the window and kiss the night air.

Franz Kafka

I have hardly anything in common with myself and should stand very quietly in a corner, content that I can breathe.
FRANZ KAFKA

Breathe Myself Quiet
Forget everything. Open the windows. Clear the room. The wind blows through it. You see only its emptiness, you search in every corner and don’t find yourself.
FRANZ KAFKA

Empty Forget Philosophy Search Yourself
I miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly.
FRANZ KAFKA

Deep I Miss You Myself
So eager are our people to obliterate the present.
FRANZ KAFKA

Ourselves People Present
Many a book is like a key to unknown chambers within the castle of one’s own self.
FRANZ KAFKA

Book Philosophy Yourself
A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.
FRANZ KAFKA

Book One Liner Sea
From a certain point onward there is no longer any turning back. That is the point that must be reached.
FRANZ KAFKA

Inspirational Philosophy
Sleep is the most innocent creature there is and a sleepless man the most guilty.
FRANZ KAFKA

Guilty Man Wake Up
I have spent all my life resisting the desire to end it.
FRANZ KAFKA

Death Desire End Life Myself Resistance
Nothing unites two people so completely, especially if, like you and me, all they have is words.
FRANZ KAFKA

People Unity Word
I am always trying to convey something that can’t be conveyed, to explain something which is inexplicable, to tell about something I have in my bones, something which can be expressed only in the bones.
FRANZ KAFKA

Explanation Expression Myself Try
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.
FRANZ KAFKA

Hold Moments Myself Worth Writing
There art two cardinal sins from which all others spring: Impatience and Laziness.
FRANZ KAFKA

Art Patience Sin
Logic may indeed be unshakeable, but it cannot withstand a man who is determined to live.
FRANZ KAFKA

Determination Live Logic Man
Love is, that you are the knife which I plunge into myself.
FRANZ KAFKA

Deep Love Myself
The Kafka paradox: art depends on truth, but truth, being indivisable, cannot know itself: to tell the truth is to lie. Thus the writer is the truth, and yet when he speaks he lies.
FRANZ KAFKA

Art Deep Lying Philosophy Talk Truth Writing

May I kiss you then? On this miserable paper? I might as well open the window and kiss the night air.

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May I kiss you then? On this miserable paper? I might as well open the window and kiss the night air.

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