What's happened to me,' he thought. It was no dream.
I am in chains. Don't touch my chains.
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 speakes he lies.
It receives you when you come and dismisses you when you go.
What do I have in common with Jews? I don't even have anything in common with myself.
The cruelty of death lies in the fact that it brings the real sorrow of the end, but not the end. The greatest cruelty of death: an apparent end causes a real sorrow. Our salvation is death, but not this one.