When you stand in front of me and look at me, what do you know of the griefs that are in me and what do I know of yours?

Franz Kafka

Franz Kafka

Profession: Novelist
Nationality: Austrian

When you stand in front of me and look at me, what do you know of the griefs that are in me and what.. Franz Kafka

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The church tower, firm in line, soaring unfalteringly to its tapering point, topped with red tiles and broad in the roof, an earthly building – what else can men build? – but with a loftier goal than the humble dwelling-houses and a clearer meaning than the muddle of everyday life.

It's sometimes quite astonishing that a single, average life is enough to encompass so much that it's at all possible ever to have any success in one's work here.

K.'s uncle, who had already been made very angry by the long wait, turned abruptly round and retorted, Ill? You say he's ill? and strode towards the gentleman in a way that seemed almost threatening, as if he were the illness himself.

Many a book is like a key to unknown chambers within the castle of one's own self.

Hold fast! then you too will see the unchangeable dark distance, out of which nothing can come except one day the chariot; it rolls up, gets bigger and bigger, fills the whole world at the moment it reaches you - and you sink into it like a child sinking into the upholstery of a carriage that drives through the storm and night.

Most men are not wicked. Men become bad and guilty because they speak and act without foreseeing the results of their words and their deeds. They are sleepwalkers, not evildoers.

I am a very unhappy human being and you, dearest, simply had to be summoned to create an equilibrium for all this misery.

Don't concern yourself about anybody. Just do what you think is right.

I carry the bars within me.

He felt himself as much at liberty as is normally only felt in foreign parts when speaking with people of lower standing, keeping everything about himself to himself, speaking only casually about the interests of the other, able to raise him to a level above one's own, but also able, at will, to let him drop again.

It would have been so pointless to kill himself that, even if he had wanted to, the pointlessness would have made him unable.

Utter despair, impossible to pull myself together; Only when I have become satisfied with my sufferings can I stop.

You can withdraw from the sufferings of the world — that possibility is open to you and accords with your nature — but perhaps that withdrawal is the only suffering you might be able to avoid.

If he stayed at home and carried on with his normal life he would be a thousand times superior to these people and could get any of them out of his way just with a kick.