The existence of the writer is an argument against the existence of the soul, for the soul has obviously taken flight from the real ego, but not improved itself, only become a writer.
Franz KafkaMy life was sweeter than other people's and my death will be more terrible by the same degree.
Franz KafkaI am away from home and must always write home, even if any home of mine has long since floated away into eternity.
Franz KafkaNow the Sirens have a still more fatal weapon than their song, namely their silence... someone might possibly have escaped from their singing; but from their silence, certainly never.
Franz KafkaThere they lay, but not in the forgetfulness of the previous night. She was seeking and he was seeking, they raged and contorted their faces and bored their heads into each others bosom in the urgency of seeking something, and their embraces and their tossing limbs did not avail to make them forget, but only reminded them of what they sought
Franz Kafka