"Kafka, Franz - Diaries 1911" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kafka Franz)

Diaries of Franz Kafka 1911

(parts 1 & 2)

Part 1


3 January. "You," I said, and then gave him a little shove with my knee, "I want to say good-bye." At this sudden utterance some saliva flew from my mouth as an
evil omen.

"But you've been considering that for a long time," he said, stepped away from the wall and stretched.

"No, I haven't been considering it at all."

"Then what have you been thinking about?"

"For the last time I have been preparing myself a little more for the company. Try as you may, you won't understand that. I, an average man from the country, whom
at any moment one could exchange for one of those who wait together by the hundreds in railway stations for particular trains."



4 January. Glaube und Heimat (Faith and Homeland) by SchЎnherr.

The wet fingers of the balconyites beneath me who wipe their eyes.



6 January. "You," I said, aimed, and gave him a little shove with my knee, "but now I'm going. If you want to see it too, open your eyes."

"Really, then?" he asked, at the same time looking at me from wide-open eyes with a direct glance that nevertheless was so weak that I could have fended it off with a
wave of my arm. "You're really going, then? What shall I do? I cannot keep you. And if I could, I still wouldn't want to. By which I simply want to make clear to you
your feeling that you could still be held back by me." And immediately he assumed that inferior servants' face by means of which they are permitted within an
otherwise regulated state to make the children of their masters obedient or afraid.



7 January. N.'s sister who is so in love with her fiancщ that she maneuvers to speak with each visitor individually, since one can better express and repeat one's love to a
single person.


As though by magic, since neither external nor internal circumstances-which are now more friendly than they have been for a year-prevented me, I was kept from
writing the entire holiday, it is a Sunday. -Several new perceptions of the unfortunate creature that I am have dawned upon me consolingly.



12 January. I haven't written down a great deal about myself during these days, partly because of laziness (I now sleep so much and so soundly during the day, I have
greater weight while I sleep) but also partly because of the fear of betraying my self-perception. This fear is justified, for one should permit a self-perception to be
established definitively in writing only when it can be done with the greatest completeness, with all the incidental consequences, as well as with entire truthfulness. For if
this does not happen-and in any event I am not capable of it-then what is written down will, in accordance with its own purpose and with the superior power of the
established, replace what has been felt only vaguely in such a way that the real feeling will disappear while the worthlessness of what has been noted down will be