I, however, cannot force myself to use "meat drugs" to cheat on my loneliness.

I hate everything that does not relate to literature, conversations bore me (even if they relate to literature), to visit people bores me, the sorrows and joys of my relatives bore me to the very soul. Conversation takes the importance, the seriousness, the truth, out of everything I think.

One tells as few lies as possible only by telling as few lies as possible, and not by having the least possible opportunity to do so.

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.

Beyond a certain point there is no return. This point has to be reached.

The door could not be heard slamming; they had probably left it open, as is the custom in homes where a great misfortune has occurred.

Art flies around truth, but with the definite intention of not getting burnt. Its capacity lies in finding in the dark void a place where the beam of light can be intensely caught, without this having been perceptible before.