The Kafka paradox: art depends on truth, but truth, being indivisable, cannot know itself: to tell the truth is to lie. thus the writer is the truth, and yet when he speaks he lies.
If you become involved with me, you will be throwing yourself into the abyss.
But perhaps the enthusiastic sensibility of young women of her age also played a role. This feeling sought release at every opportunity, and with it Grete now felt tempted to want to make Gregor's situation even more terrifying, so that then she would be able to do even more for him than now.
I am a cage, in search of a bird.
It was half past six and the hands were quietly moving forwards.
Was he an animal, that music could move him so? He felt as if the way to the unknown nourishment he longed for were coming to light.