The initial plan in the last weeks of Kafka's life, though, was to send him to Davos in the Swiss Alps. This was the world's most famous town for tuberculosis sufferers on account of its many sanatoria, about to be immortalised in Thomas Mann's novel The Magic Mountain, which came out just a few months after Kafka's death. (...) Mann and Kafka read and admired each other's work.
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"Be careful around men in positions of power who give you something you didn’t earn—they’re going to expect you to earn it after the fact, in a way you won’t like.”
Two diabolical green rays out of her eyes fall upon me, and now she laughs.
Her laughter is very mysterious, very—I don't know. It cannot be described, it takes my breath away. I flee further, and after every few steps I have to pause to take breath. The mocking laughter pursues me through the dark leafy paths, across light open spaces, through the thicket where only single moonbeams can pierce. I can no longer find my way, I wander about utterly confused, with cold drops of perspiration on the forehead.
Every woman I meet tries to murder me! Everybody's after my Chainsaw heart! What about my heart?! Denji's! Does nobody want that? Huh?!
"To love, to be loved, what happiness! And yet how the glamour of this pales in comparison with the tormenting bliss of worshipping a woman who makes a plaything out of us, of being the slave of a beautiful tyrant who treads us pitilessly underfoot. Even Samson, the hero, the giant, again put himself into the hands of Delilah, even after she had betrayed him, and again she betrayed him, and the Philistines bound him and put out his eyes which until the very end he kept fixed, drunken with rage and love, upon the beautiful betrayer."
Your happiness is something that should come from within and should not be dependent on your lover or mate. Your well-being is not their responsibility and theirs not yours. Each person needs to look after himself for herself. In addition, you should learn not to allow your inner peace to be disturbed by the person you are closest to.
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“Günün birinde son yemeğini yiyip, son çiçeğini koklayıp, bir arkadaşına son kez sarılacaksın. Son kez olduğundan haberin olmayacak. O yüzden, sevdiğin her şeyi tutkuyla yapmalısın. Kalan yıllarının kıymetini bilmelisin, çünkü devamı yok..''
(After Life)
Bu kadar uzun süredir sağlam olduğunu düşündüğünüz bir ilişkiden ayrıldıktan sonra bir kadının neden sizi bu kadar çabuk unutabildiğini hiç merak ettiniz mi? Onun için değişmesini umduğu istismarcı erkek arkadaşına neden geri döndüğünü hiç merak ettiniz mi? Kadınsı tekbencilikten başka bir yere bakmayın.
Ever wonder why it is a woman can ‘get over you’ so quickly after a break up from a relationship you’d thought was rock solid for so long? Ever wonder why she returns to the abusive boyfriend she hopes will change for her? Look no further than feminine solipsism.
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The fair sex should be always fair, and no man
Till thirty should perceive there’s a plain woman.
And after that serene and somewhat dull
Epoch, that awkward corner turned for days
More quiet, when our moon’s no more at full,
We may presume to criticize or praise,
Because indifference begins to lull
Our passions and we walk in wisdom’s ways.
“None of this can actually be happening. If it makes you more comfortable, you could simply think of it as metaphor. Religions are, by definition, metaphors, after all: God is a dream a hope, a woman, an ironist, a father, a city, a house of many rooms, a watchmaker who left his prize chronometer in the desert, someone who loves you — even, perhaps, against all evidence, a celestial being whose only interest is to make sure your football team, army, business, or marriage thrives, prospers, and triumphs over all opposition.
Religions are places to stand and look and act, vantage points from which to view the world.”
He had once stood on cold streets, searching for warmth until the frost froze his heart. Even after he built himself the warmest of houses, the cold never left. Not until her, not until the only person who cared for him, cared that he wasn't sleeping, cared that he wasn’t warm.
After a lifetime of looking at cracked ceilings and peeling paint while pieces of her were ripped from her, he had given her a ceiling of beautiful stars and slowly put the pieces back together again.
He had touched her soul.
The rest of the world, the rest of the colours, never appeared quite right to him. The caretaker of the orphanage had said it was because he had demon eyes, because he was a demon child. He had named him after death too.