Just think how many thoughts a blanket smothers while one lies alone in bed, and how many unhappy dreams it keeps warm.
FRANZ KAFKAPaths are made by walking
More Franz Kafka Quotes
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I miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly.
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Many a book is like a key to unknown chambers within the castle of one’s own self.
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I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us.
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I write differently from what I speak, I speak differently from what I think, I think differently from the way I ought to think, and so it all proceeds into deepest darkness.
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The limited circle is pure.
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You can choose to be free , but it’s last decision you’ll ever make
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I need solitude for my writing; not ‘like a hermit’ – that wouldn’t be enough – but like a dead man.
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I’m thinking only of my illness and my health, though both, the first as well as the second, are you.
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I’m doing badly, I’m doing well, whichever you prefer.
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Believing in progress does not mean believing that any progress has yet been made.
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A First Sign of the Beginning of Understanding is the Wish to Die.
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He is terribly afraid of dying because he hasn’t yet lived.
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No, said the priest, you don’t need to accept everything as true, you only have to accept it as necessary. Depressing view, said K. The lie made into the rule of the world.
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Written kisses don’t reach their destination, rather they are drunk on the way by the ghosts.
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He was a tool of the boss, without brains or backbone.
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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.
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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.
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In man’s struggle against the world, bet on the world.
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For myself I am too heavy, and for you too light.
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I do not speak as I think, I do not think as I should, and so it all goes on in helpless darkness.
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From a certain point onward there is no longer any turning back. That is the point that must be reached.
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You misinterpret everything, even the silence.
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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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Now I can look at you in peace; I don’t eat you any more.
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A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.
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There art two cardinal sins from which all others spring: Impatience and Laziness.
FRANZ KAFKA