I am away from home and must always write home, even if any home of mine has long since floated away into eternity.
What's happened to me,' he thought. It was no dream.
The thornbush is the old obstacle in the road. It must catch fire if you want to go further.
The true way goes over a rope which is not stretched at any great height but just above the ground. It seems more designed to make people stumble than to be walked upon.
Productivity is being able to do things that you were never able to do before.
I need solitude for my writing; not 'like a hermit' - that wouldn't be enough - but like a dead man.
The fact that our task is exactly commensurate with our life gives it the appearance of being infinite.
The dream reveals the reality which conception lags behind. That is the horror of life-the terror of art.
The relationship to one's fellow man is the relationship of prayer, the relationship to oneself is the relationship of striving; it is from prayer that one draws the strength for one's striving.
A book must be an ice-axe to break the seas frozen inside our soul.
Writing is a deeper sleep than death. Just as one wouldn't pull a corpse from its grave, I can't be dragged from my desk at night.
I, however, cannot force myself to use "meat drugs" to cheat on my loneliness.
Let me remind you of the old maxim: people under suspicion are better moving than at rest, since at rest they may be sitting in the balance without knowing it, being weighed together with their sins.
All knowledge, the totality of all questions and all answers, is contained in the dog. If one could but realize this knowledge, if one could but bring it into the light of day, if we dogs would but own that we know infinitely more than we admit to ourselves!
Anyone who believes cannot experience miracles. By day one does not see any stars. Anyone who does miracles says: I cannot let goof the earth.
Human nature, essentially changeable, as unstable as the dust, can endure no restraint; if it binds itself it soon begins to tear madly at its bonds, until it rends everything asunder, the wall, the bonds, and its very self.
But what if all the tranquility, all the comfort, all the contentment were now to come to a horrifying end?
Everyone carries a room about inside him. This fact can even be proved by means of the sense of hearing. If someone walks fast and one pricks up one’s ears and listens, say in the night, when everything round about is quiet, one hears, for instance, the rattling of a mirror not quite firmly fastened to the wall.
Someone must have slandered Josef K., for one morning, without having done anything truly wrong, he was arrested.
There was once a community of scoundrels, that is to say, they were not scoundrels, but ordinary people.
By imposing too great a responsibility, or rather, all responsibility, on yourself, you crush yourself.
Believing means liberating the indestructible element in oneself, or, more accurately, liberating oneself, or, more accurately, being indestructible, or, more accurately, being.
We are separated from God on two sides; the Fall separates us from Him, the Tree of Life separates Him from us.
Humility provides everyone, even him who despairs in solitude, with the strongest relationship to his fellow man.
But questions that don’t answer themselves at the very moment of their asking are never answered.
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