Everything Human Is Alien To Me.

For Neither Life Nor Nature Cares If Justice Is Ever Done Or Not.

Then Carol Slipped Her Arm Under Her Neck, And All The Length Of Their Bodies Touched Fitting As If Something Had Prearranged It. Happiness Was Like A Green Vine Spreading Through Her, Stretching Fine Tendrils, Bearing Flowers Through Her Flesh. She Had A Vision Of A Pale White Flower, Shimmering As If Seen In Darkness, Or Through Water. Why Did People Talk Of Heaven, She Wondered

In View Of The Fact That I Surround Myself With Numbskulls Now, I Shall Die Among Numbskulls, And On My Deathbed Shall Be Surrounded By Numbskulls Who Will Not Understand What I Am Saying ... Whom Am I Sleeping With These Days ? Franz Kafka.

I Find The Public Passion For Justice Quite Boring And Artificial.

One Blow In Anger [would] Kill, Probably, A Child From Aged Two To Eight. Those Over Eight Would Take Two Blows To Kill.