Deceptions are more frequent than changes.

I passed by the brothel as though past the house of a beloved.

He looked sadly down at the street, as though it were his own bottomless sadness.

Alone -- do you know what that means?

God gives the nuts, but he does not crack them.

Life is merely terrible; I feel it as few others do. Often — and in my inmost self perhaps all the time — I doubt whether I am a human being.

Even if no salvation should come, I want to be worthy of it at every moment.

Sometimes a thousand shoulders quake under a burden meant just for one.

I need solitude for my writing; not 'like a hermit' - that wouldn't be enough - but like a dead man.

One morning Gregor Samsa found himself, in bed, transformed into a monstrous vermin.