#Franz kafka

[petaltexturedskies]

When Dostoevsky said, "Pain changes you, but it teaches. That is its mercy." but Kafka said, "Pain changes nothing. It just repeats itself until you forget who you were before it started."

[itzmilannnnnn]

I am OBSESSED with his work 🤍

— Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

[deviika]

Lee Krasner // Franz Kafka

[dailykafka]

— June 15, 1913 / Letters to Felice

[happyk44]

[Text ID: May 28, 1913

I am wholly yours,

you could never have possessed anything so completely, /end ID]

May 28, 1913 Letters to Felice by Franz Kafka First published : 1973

[dostoyevskiolmak]

Sustuklarımı Duyan Birisine İhtiyacım Var ..

[ivynightshade]

fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘i am an observer, but not by choice.’

[text id: my fist has always been clenched around the handle of an invisible suitcase. / i am always ready to leave. / there is not a single room in this world where i belong.]

[thoughtkick]

I am not well; I could have built the Pyramids with the effort it takes me to cling on to life and reason.

Franz Kafka, Letters To Felice

[mysteriousmiss-i]

Neither am I in the right place nor the right time. So where do I belong?

“I cannot rid myself of the feeling that I’m not in the right place.”

— Franz Kafka

[doitforadamparrish]

when kafka said ‘you wouldn’t believe the kind of person I could become if you wanted it’ and when brontë said ‘if you ever looked at me with what I know is in you, I would be your slave’ and when Sartre said ‘if I’ve got to suffer it may as well be at your hands’

[thelovelclubarchive]

I love you so dearly it feels like decay blooming beneath my ribs. a dreadful sweetness, aching and absolute. It is not the soft, well-mannered affection that poets so often laud. it is a fevered devotion that borders on ruin. It’s not pretty, not stitched in silk and reason. It’s a sickness, an ache that wraps itself around my ribs and calls it devotion. I confess, I don’t know how to love from a distance, with boundaries, with moderation. I’ve never learned to care without falling into the fire mouth-first. I have never mastered the art of loving in halves. When I touch someone, it is with the kind of reverence that borders on desecration. Every breath you take feels like something I need to kneel for. I pour myself out into flowers and walls and your skin like I’m trying to become part of it all. I want to crawl under your flesh and know what your bones pray for when you're asleep. Does that scare you? That I could smother the light inside you and name it worship? That I might replace your pulse with mine, and call it love? My love is never measured, it is spilled. I do not know how to offer you anything less than all. I love as the tempest does, entirely, ruinously, without remorse. And if loving you means dipping my hands in your blood and calling it sacred, then so be it. I’ll say it again, and again, and again, this isn’t tenderness. This is hunger, and I am starving.

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— Franz Kafka

[shisasan]

June 15, 1913 Letters to Felice by Franz Kafka First published : 1973

[skylark-234]

[nirmiti]

kafka: i ran from love because i knew it would destroy me.

dostoevsky: i ran into love because i needed it to destroy who i once was.