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❝ I think there is one idiosyncrasy that we share, darling: we are so shy and anxious that almost every letter is different, almost every one is frightened by the previous letter and even more so by the reply. Sometimes I feel we have a room with two doors on opposite sides and each of us is holding his doorknob and, at the bat of one person’s eyelash, the other jumps behind his door, and now if the first person utters a single word, the second is sure to close the door behind him, so that he can no longer be seen. He is bound to reopen the door, though, since it may be a room impossible to leave. If only the first person weren’t exactly like the second, then he would be calm and pretend not to care the slightest about the second; he would slowly go about ordering this room the way he would any other. But instead, he repeats the same thing with his door, occasionally even both people are standing behind their doors at the same time and the beautiful room remains empty. Agonizing emotions are the result. Darling, you complain about some letters that you turn them in all directions and nothing falls out, but if I am not mistaken those are precisely the ones where I was so close to you, my blood so restrained, restraining your own, so deep in the forest, so resting in rest, that nothing needed to be said, except perhaps that you need to see the sky through the trees, that’s all. ❞
—   Franz Kafka, from Letters To Milena   (via kafkaesque-world)   —
❝ 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. ❞
—   Franz Kafka, from Diaries  (via kafkaesque-world)   —