"Franz_Kafka_-_Diaries_1913" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kafka Franz)

To be pulled in through the ground-floor window of a house by a rope tied around one's neck and to be yanked up, bloody and ragged, through all the ceilings, furniture,
walls, and attics, without consideration, as if by a person who is paying no attention, until the empty noose, dropping the last fragments of me when it breaks through the
roof tiles, is seen on the roof.


Special methods of thinking. Permeated with emotion. Everything feels itself to be a thought, even the vaguest feelings (Dostoyevsky).


This block and tackle of the inner being. A small lever is somewhere secretly released, one is hardly aware of it at first, and at once the whole apparatus is in motion.
Subject to an incomprehensible power, as the watch seems subject to time, it creaks here and there, and all the chains clank down their prescribed path one after the
other.


Summary of all the arguments for and against my marriage:

1. Inability to endure life alone, which does not imply inability to live, quite the contrary, it is even improbable that I know how to live with anyone, but I am incapable,
alone, of bearing the assault of my own life, the demands of my own person, the attacks of time and old age, the vague pressure of the desire to write, sleeplessness, the
nearness of insanityЧI cannot bear all this alone. I naturally add a УperhapsФ to this. The connection with F. will give my existence more strength to resist.


2. Everything immediately gives me pause. Every joke in the comic paper, what I remember about Flaubert and Grillparzer, the sight of the nightshirts on my parents'
beds, laid out for the night, MaxТs marriage. Yesterday my sister said, УAll the married people (that we know) are happy, I don't understand it,Ф this remark too gave me
pause, I became afraid again.


3. I must be alone a great deal. What I accomplished was only the result of being alone.


4. I hate everything that does not relate to literature, conversations bore me (even if they relate to literature), to visit people bores me, the sorrows and joys of my
relatives bore me to my soul. Conversations take the importance, the seriousness, the truth of everything I think.


5. The fear of the connection, of passing into the other. Then I'll never be alone again.


6. In the past, especially, the person I am in the company of my sisters has been entirely different from the person I am in the company of other people. Fearless,
powerful, surprising, moved as I otherwise am only when I write. If through the intermediation of my wife I could be like that in the presence of everyone! But then
would it not be at the expense of my writing? Not that, not that!


7. Alone, I could perhaps some day really give up my job. Married, it will never be possible.



In our class, the fifth class of the Amalia Gymnasium, there was a boy named Friedrich Guss whom we all hated very much. If we came into the classroom early and
saw him sitting in his place near the stove we could hardly understand how he could have pulled himself together to come to school again. But I'm not telling it right.
We didn't hate only him, we hated everyone. We were a terrible confederacy. Once, when the District School Inspector was present at a lessonЧit was a geography
lesson and the professor, his eyes turned to the blackboard or the window like all our professors, was describing the Morea PennsulaЧ