A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. ― Franz Kafka Advertisements
By the way, do you know the joys of being alone, walking alone, lying in the sun alone? Which doesn’t mean I have anything against doing things in twos, and not much against doing them in threes. But what a joy it is for the tormented, for heart and head! Do you know what I… Continue reading Franz Kafka
No permanence is ours; we are a wave That flows to fit whatever form it finds: Through day or night, cathedral or the cave We pass forever, craving form that binds. – Hermann Hesse, from “Lament,” The Glass Bead Game: A Novel. (Picador; First edition, December 6, 2002) Originally published 1943.
Move through transformation, out and in. What is the deepest loss that you have suffered? If drinking is bitter, change yourself to wine. In this immeasurable darkness, be the power that rounds your senses in their magic ring, the sense of their mysterious encounter. And if the earthly no longer knows your name, whisper to… Continue reading Rainer Maria Rilke
Love is, that you are the knife which I plunge into myself. — Franz Kafka
Writing is utter solitude, the descent into the cold abyss of oneself. ― Franz Kafka
O how complete I was, nothing calling, nothing that divulged me; my stillness was like a stone’s over which the brook makes its murmuring. But now in these spring weeks something has slowly broken me off from the dark unconscious year. Something has given my poor warm life into the hand of someone random who… Continue reading Rainer Maria Rilke