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Tag Archives: Franz Kafka
Weeding out some stuff
“My relationship with cats has saved me from a deadly and pervasive ignorance. I prefer cats to people, for the most part. Most people aren’t cute at all, and if they are cute they very rapidly outgrow it.” William S. … Continue reading
Posted in Animation, Books, Libraries, USA, Writing
Tagged Franz Kafka, Hermann Hesse, Pulp Fiction, William S. Burroughs
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Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old
Franz Kafka, born on this day in 1883. “You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait, be quiet still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself … Continue reading
Posted in Books, Europe, Uncategorized, Writing
Tagged European literature, Franz Kafka, Prague
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“A Society of Scoundrels”
“A Society of Scoundrels” by Franz Kafka Translated by Michael Hofmann There was once a society of scoundrels, or rather not scoundrels per se, just ordinary, average people. They always stuck together. When one of them had perpetrated some rascally … Continue reading
Not only Caturday, but Caturday nonetheless
“I used to think I was the strangest person in the world, but then I thought there are so many people in the world, there must be someone just like me who feels bizarre and flawed in the same ways … Continue reading
everything at heaven’s gate is broken up into its component parts
“A Society of Scoundrels” by Franz Kafka Translated by Michael Hofmann There was once a society of scoundrels, or rather not scoundrels per se, just ordinary, average people. They always stuck together. When one of them had perpetrated some rascally … Continue reading
“what I said was that writing makes everything clearer and worse.”
“Not His Best” by Joy Williams from 99 Stories of God Franz Kafka once called his writing a form of prayer. He also reprimanded the long-suffering Felice Bauer in a letter: “I did not say that writing ought to make everything … Continue reading
Just a postcard from Kafka
I recently stumbled on this postcard from the German National Library that is dated 1918 from Franz Kafka to his publisher Kurt Wolff. Personally, I never sent postcards to my publisher, but then again he was a terrible person. And … Continue reading
