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

flying at the girl's behind I grabbed him by the throat, choked him in fury, thrust him aside, and swore. Then walked on and didn't even look at the girl. One quite forgets
one's earthly existence because one is so entirely full of fury and is permitted to believe that, given the opportunity, one would in the same way fill oneself with even
more beautiful emotions.



28 March. From Mrs. Fanta's lecture, УImpressions of BerlinФ: Grillparzer once didn't want to go to a party because he knew that Hebbel, with whom he was friendly,
would also be there. УHe will question me again about my opinion on God, and when I don't know what to say, he will become rudeФЧMy awkward behavior.



29 March. Delighted with the bathroom. Gradual understanding. The afternoons I spent on my hair.



1 April. For the first time in a week an almost complete failure in writing. Why? Last week too I lived through various moods and kept their influence away from my
writing; but I am afraid to write about it.



3 April. This is how a day passesЧin the morning, the office, in the afternoon, the factory, now in the evening, shouting to the right and left of me at home, later brought
my sister home from HamletЧand I haven't been able to make use of a single moment.



8 April. Saturday before Easter. Complete knowledge of oneself. To be able to seize the whole of one's abilities like a little ball. To accept the greatest decline as
something familiar and so still remain elastic in it.


Desire for a deeper sleep that dissolves more. The metaphysical urge is only the urge toward death.


How affectedly I spoke today in Haas's presence because he praised Max's and my travel report, so that in this way, at least, I might make myself worthy of the praise
that the report does not warrant, or so that I might continue by fraud the fraudulent or lying effect of the travel report, or in the spirit of Haas's amiable lie, which I tried
to make easier for him.



6 May. 11 o'clock. For the first time in a considerable while a complete failure in writing. The feeling of a tried man.


Dreamed recently:

I was riding with my father through Berlin in a tram car. The big-city quality was represented by countless striped toll bars standing upright, finished off bluntly at the
ends. Apart from that everything was almost empty, but there was a great forest of these toll bars. We came to a gate, got out without any sense of getting out,
stepped through the gate. On the other side of the gate a sheer wall rose up, which my father ascended almost in a dance, his legs flew out as he climbed, so easy was
it for him. There was certainly also some inconsiderateness in the fact that he did not help me one bit, for I got to the top only with the utmost effort, on all fours, often
sliding back again, as though the wall had become steeper under me. At the same time it was also distressing that [the wall] was covered with human excrement so that
flakes of it clung to me, chiefly to my breast. I looked down at the flakes with bowed head and ran my hand over them.