

“The Kafka paradox: art depends on truth, but truth, being indivisable, cannot know itself: to tell the truth is to lie. thus the writer is the truth, and yet when he speaks he lies.”
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“April 27. Incapable of living with people, of speaking. Complete immersion in myself, thinking of myself. Apathetic, witless, fearful. I have nothing to say to anyone - never.”
― Diaries, 1910-1923
― Diaries, 1910-1923

“I have hardly anything in common with myself and should stand very quietly in a corner, content that I can breathe.”
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