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You are at once both the quiet and the confusion of my heart.

Franz Kafka

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
A non-writing writer is a monster courting insanity.
FRANZ KAFKA

Sanity Writing
Paths are made by walking
FRANZ KAFKA

Inspirational Path Walk
I am free and that is why I am lost.
FRANZ KAFKA

Freedom Lost Myself One Liner Philosophy
I have spent all my life resisting the desire to end it.
FRANZ KAFKA

Death Desire End Life Myself Resistance
For myself I am too heavy, and for you too light.
FRANZ KAFKA

Light Myself Yourself
What if I slept a little more and forgot about all this nonsense.
FRANZ KAFKA

Escape Forget Myself
Believing in progress does not mean believing that any progress has yet been made.
FRANZ KAFKA

Believe Deep Success
A First Sign of the Beginning of Understanding is the Wish to Die.
FRANZ KAFKA

Beginning Death Understand
I do not speak as I think, I do not think as I should, and so it all goes on in helpless darkness.
FRANZ KAFKA

Darkness Help Myself Talk Thinking
They’re talking about things of which they don’t have the slightest understanding, anyway. It’s only because of their stupidity that they’re able to be so sure of themselves.
FRANZ KAFKA

Stupidity Talk Understand
Just think how many thoughts a blanket smothers while one lies alone in bed, and how many unhappy dreams it keeps warm.
FRANZ KAFKA

Bed Dream Happiness Lie Thinking
Even the merest gesture is holy if it is filled with faith.
FRANZ KAFKA

Faith Simplicity
People label themselves with all sorts of adjectives. I can only pronounce myself as ‘nauseatingly miserable beyond repair’.
FRANZ KAFKA

Misery People
I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us.
FRANZ KAFKA

Book Kind Myself Thinking Wound
I am dirty, Milena, endlessly dirty, that is why I make such a fuss about cleanliness. None sing as purely as those in deepest hell; it is their singing we take for the singing of angels.
FRANZ KAFKA

Angel Hell Myself Sing

You are at once both the quiet and the confusion of my heart.

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You are at once both the quiet and the confusion of my heart.

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