Franz Kafka

There's no quiet place here on earth for our love, not in the village and not anywhere else, so I picture a grave, deep and narrow, in which we embrace as if clamped together, I bury my face against you, you yours against me, and no one will ever see us.

I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.

It would have been so pointless to kill himself that, even if he had wanted to, the pointlessness would have made him unable.

The right understanding of any matter and a misunderstanding of the same matter do not wholly exclude each other.

Even that has its reason; it is often better to be in chains than to be free.

Was he an animal, that music could move him so? He felt as if the way to the unknown nourishment he longed for were coming to light.