by
Zadie Smith
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What have I in common with Jews? I have hardly anything in common with myself, and should stand very quietly in a corner, content than I can breathe.
[...] 'Everyone strives to reach the Law,' says the man, 'so how does it happen that for all these many years no one but myself has ever begged for admittance?' The doorkeeper recognizes that the man has reached his end, and, to let his failing senses catch the words, roars in his ear: 'No one else could ever be admitted here, since this gate was made only for you. I am now going to shut it.'
just a classic Kafka passage
'[...] sleep? On a night like this? What an idea! Just think how many thoughts a blanket smothers while one lies alone in bed, and how many unhappy dreams it keeps warm.'
just pretty language
[...] Who knows, this man--thinking of housemaid affairs while walking beside me, his mouth steaming with cold--might be capable of bestowing on me in the eyes of the world a value without my having to work for it. [...]
shit
And now the evening sun's slanting rays broke forth from behind the rims of the great cloud and illuminated the hills and mountains as far as the eye could see, while the river and the region beneath the cloud lay in an uncertain light.
pretty
'[...] People who live alone have no responsibility in the evenings. One fears a number of things--that one's body could vanish, that human beings may really be what they appear to be at twilight, that one might not be allowed to walk without a stick, that it might be a good idea to go to church and pray at the top of one's voice in order to be looked at and acquire a body.'
[...] '[...] One works so feverishly at the office that afterwards one is too tired even to enjoy one's holidays properly. But even all that work does not give one a claim to be treated lovingly by everyone; on the contrary, one is alone, a total stranger and only an object of curiosity. And as long as you say "one" instead of "I", there's nothing in it and one can easily tell the story; but as soon as you admit to yourself that it is yourself, you feel as though transfixed and are horrified.'
god this story kills me
[...] while villages come toward us and flash past, while at the same time they turn away into the depths of the country, where for us they must disappear. And yet these villages are inhabited, and there perhaps travelers go from shop to shop.
(the main character, Raban, is a traveling salesman)
'Ten thousand times!' said Georg, to make fun of his father, but in his very mouth the words turned into deadly earnest.
in the weird story about Georg's senile father and his random friend in Siberia
[...] 'What a quiet life our family has been leading,' said Gregor to himself, and as he sat there motionless staring into the darkness he felt great pride in the fact that he had been able to provide a life for his parents and sister in such a fine flat. But what if all the quiet, the comfort, the contentment were now to end in horror? To keep himself from being lost in such thoughts Gregor took refuge in movement and crawled up and down the room.