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

Almost broken nose. Blonde, somewhat straight, unattractive hair, strong chin. As I was taking my seat I looked at her closely for the first time, by the time I was
seated I already had an unshakeable opinion.



21 August. Read Lenz incessantly andЧsuch is my stateЧhe restored me to my senses.


The picture of dissatisfaction presented by a street, where everyone is perpetually lifting his feet to escape from the place on which he stands.



30 August. All this time did nothing. The visit of my uncle from Spain. Last Saturday in the Arco Werfel recited his УLebensliederФ and УOpfer.Ф A monster! But I
looked him in the eye and held it all evening.


It will be hard to rouse me, and yet I am restless. When I lay in bed this afternoon and someone quickly turned a key in the lock, for a moment I had locks all over my
body, as though at a fancy-dress ball, and at short intervals a lock was opened or shut here and there.


Questionnaire by the magazine Miroir, about love in the present and the way love has changed since the days of our grandparents. An actress answered: Never did
they love as well as today.


How shaken and exalted I was after hearing Werfel! How I behaved afterwards at L.'s party, wild, almost, and without a fault.


This month, which, because of the absence of the boss, could have been put to exceptionally good use, I have wasted and slept away without much excuse (sending the
book off to Rowohlt, abscesses, my uncle's visit). Even this afternoon I stretched out on the bed for three hours with dreamy excuses.



4 September. My uncle from Spain. The cut of his coat. The effect of his nearness. The details of his personality. His floating through the anteroom into the toilet, in
the course of which he makes no reply to what is said to him. Becomes milder from day to day, if one judges not in terms of a gradual change but by the moments
which stand out.



5 September. I ask him: How is one to reconcile the fact that you are generally dissatisfied, as you recently said, and that nevertheless you are at home everywhere, as
can be seen time and again (and which is revealed in the rudeness always characteristic of this sort of being-at-home, I thought). He answers, as I remember it: УIn
individual things I am dissatisfied, this doesn't extend to the whole. I often dine in a little French pension that is very exclusive and expensive. For example, a room for a
couple, with meals, costs fifty francs a day. So I sit there between the secretary of the French legation, for example, and a Spanish general of artillery. Opposite me sit
a high official of the navy ministry and some count or other. I know them all well by now, sit down in my place, greeting them on all sides, because I am in a peculiar
mood I say not another word until the good-bye with which I take my leave. Then I am alone on the street and really can't see what purpose this evening served. I go
home and regret that I didn't marry. Naturally this mood passes away again, whether because I have thought it through to the end, whether because the thoughts have
dispersed. But on occasion it comes back again.Ф



8 September. Sunday morning. Yesterday a letter to Dr. Schiller.