Please — consider me a dream.

I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.

If they were shocked, then Gregor had no further responsibility and could be calm. But if they took everything calmly, he he, too, had no reason to get excited and could, if he hurried, actually be at the station by eight o'clock.

I never wish to be easily defined.

A book must be an ice-axe to break the seas frozen inside our soul.

From a certain point onward there is no longer any turning back. That is the point that must be reached.

Life is merely terrible; I feel it as few others do. Often — and in my inmost self perhaps all the time — I doubt whether I am a human being.