"Franz_Kafka_-_Diaries_1912" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kafka Franz)

Also: Academy of the Herder Association on the Sophien Island. Bie shoves his hand in his trouser pocket at the beginning of the lecture. This face, satisfied despite all
disappointment, of people who work as they please. Hofmannsthal reads with a false ring in his voice. A close-knit figure, beginning with the ears pressed close to his
head. Wiesenthal. The beautiful parts of the dance, for example, when in sinking to the ground the natural heaviness of the body is revealed.


Impression of Toynbee Hall.


Zionist meeting. Blumenfeld. Secretary of the World Zionist Organization.


A new stabilizing force has recently appeared in my deliberations about myself which I can recognize now for the first time and only now, since during the last week I
have been literally disintegrating because of sadness and uselessness.


Changing emotions among the young people in the Cafщ Arco.



26 February. Better consciousness of myself. The beating of my heart more as I would wish it. The hissing of the gaslight above me.


I opened the front door to see whether the weather would tempt me to take a walk. The blue sky could not be denied, but large gray clouds through which the blue
shimmered, with flap-shaped, curved edges, hovered low, one could see them against the nearby wooded hills. Nevertheless the street was full of people out for a
walk. Baby carriages were guided by the firm hands of mothers. Here and there in the crowd a vehicle came to a stop until the people made way for the prancing
horses. Meanwhile the driver, quietly holding the quivering reins, looked ahead, missed no details, examined everything several times and at the right moment set the
carriage in motion. Children were able to run about, little room as there was. Girls in light clothes with hats as emphatically colored as postage stamps walked arm in
arm with young men, and a song, suppressed in their throats, revealed itself in their dancing pace. Families stayed close together, and even if sometimes they were
shaken out into a single file, there were still arms stretched back, hands waving, pet names called, to join together those who had strayed. Men who had no part in this
tried to shut themselves off even more by sticking their hands in their pockets. That was petty nonsense. First I stood m the doorway, then I leaned against the doorpost
in order to look on more comfortably. Clothes brushed against me, once I seized a ribbon that ornamented the back of a girl's skin and let her draw it out of my hand as
she walked away; once, when I stroked the shoulder of a girl, just to flatter her, the passer-by behind her struck me over the fingers. But I pulled him behind the bolted
half of the door, I reproached him with raised hands, with looks out of the corners of my eyes, a step towards him, a step away from him, he was happy when I let go of
him with a shove. From then on, naturally, I often called people to me, a crook of my finger was enough, or a quick, unhesitating glance.


How sleepily and without effort I wrote this useless, unfinished thing.


Today I am writing to LЎwy. I am copying down the letters to him here because I hope to do something with them:

Dear friendЧ



27 February. I have no time to write letters in duplicate.