Franz Kafka is a German writer
who has affected me to a considerable measure. In the by gone year, many a
times I read his books, soaked up his quotes and now I’m by substantial, a
bad-to-the-bone admirer of this individual. Viewed as one of the significant
figures of twentieth century writing, his work, wires components of
authenticity and the fantasy. It's stunned on our part when he investigates
topics of distance, existential uneasiness, blame, and foolishness.
I went
over and read one of his finest work, "The Metamorphosis" in the most
recent year. I ought to say honestly that the term which ought to have cited me
since years ought to have been "Kafkaesque", which is the
peculiar way of his writing.
I've
mentioned some of his quotes here:
“Don't bend; don't water it down; don't try to make it
logical; don't edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your
most intense obsessions mercilessly.”
“I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound
or stab us. If the book we're reading doesn't wake us up with a blow to the
head, what are we reading for? So that it will make us happy, as you write?
Good Lord, we would be happy precisely if we had no books, and the kind of
books that make us happy are the kind we could write ourselves if we had to.
But we need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like
the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into
forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen
sea within us. That is my belief.”
“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 to you to be unmasked, it has no
choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.”
“I need solitude for my writing; not 'like a hermit' - that
wouldn't be enough - but like a dead man.”
“I never wish to be easily defined. I’d rather float over
other people’s minds as something strictly fluid and non-perceivable; more like
a transparent, paradoxically iridescent creature rather than an actual
person.”
“I am constantly trying to communicate something
incommunicable, to explain something inexplicable, to tell about something I
only feel in my bones and which can only be experienced in those bones.
Basically it is nothing other than this fear we have so often talked about, but
fear spread to everything, fear of the greatest as of the smallest, fear,
paralyzing fear of pronouncing a word, although this fear may not only be fear
but also a longing for something greater than all that is fearful.”
Dig deep into his works and find the mystery of life. If he
was still alive, i would have longed to meet him once. A man of profound scars. I devote my first blog entry of the year to the colossal Franz Kafka.
