The moment Kafka attracts more attenetion than Joseph K., Kafka's posthumous death begins.

You can understand nothing about art, particularly modern art, if you do not understand that imagination is a value in itself.

I am not in favor of imposing happiness on people. Everyone has a right to his bad wine, to his stupidity, and to his dirty fingernails.

The only relationship that can make both partners happy is one in which sentimentality has no place and neither partner makes any claim on the life and freedom of the other.

I understood that there was no escaping the memories, that I was surround by them. (p.30)

And therein lies the whole of man's plight. Human time does not turn in a circle; it runs ahead in a straight line. That is why man cannot be happy: happiness is the longing for repetition.

Only the basic situations in life occur only once, never to return. For a man to be a man, he must be fully aware of this never-to-return. (p.148)