black
grey
blue
red
brown
white

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

Kill me, or you are a murderer.
FRANZ KAFKA

Deep Kill Myself One Liner
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
It’s only because of their stupidity that they’re able to be so sure of themselves.
FRANZ KAFKA

Philosophy Stupidity
This tremendous world I have inside of me. How to free myself, and this world, without tearing myself to pieces. And rather tear myself to a thousand pieces than be buried with this world within me.
FRANZ KAFKA

Freedom Myself Philosophy Pieces World
Should I be grateful or should I curse the fact that despite all misfortune I can still feel love, an unearthly love but still for earthly objects.
FRANZ KAFKA

Feeling Fortune Grateful Love Myself
So eager are our people to obliterate the present.
FRANZ KAFKA

Ourselves People Present
I have the true feeling of myself only when I am unbearably unhappy.
FRANZ KAFKA

Feeling Happiness Myself True
The truth is always an abyss. One must — as in a swimming pool — dare to dive from the quivering springboard of trivial everyday experience and sink into the depths, in order to later rise again — laughing and fighting for breath — to the now doubly illuminated surface of things.
FRANZ KAFKA

Breathe Experience Fight Laughter Rise Truth
A non-writing writer is a monster courting insanity.
FRANZ KAFKA

Sanity Writing
I am a cage, in search of a bird.
FRANZ KAFKA

Myself Search
I am in chains. Don’t touch my chains.
FRANZ KAFKA

Myself Touch
In a way, you are poetry material; You are full of cloudy subtleties I am willing to spend a lifetime figuring out. Words burst in your essence and you carry their dust in the pores of your ethereal individuality.
FRANZ KAFKA

Life Material Poetry Way Willing Yourself
You can choose to be free , but it’s last decision you’ll ever make
FRANZ KAFKA

Choice Decision Freedom Yourself
What am I doing here in this endless winter?
FRANZ KAFKA

End Myself Winter
Most men are not wicked, They are sleep-walkers, not evil evildoers.
FRANZ KAFKA

Deep Evil Man Walk
He was a tool of the boss, without brains or backbone.
FRANZ KAFKA

Himself Slave

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.

Related Topics

Popular Authors

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.

Related Topics

Popular Authors

More Franz Kafka Quotes