*Briefe, p. 385.

“What I have played at
will really happen.
I have not
ransomed myself
by writing.
All my life
I have been dead,
and now I shall
really die.
My life was
sweeter than others’,
my death will be
that much more
terrible.
The writer in me
of course
will die at once,
for such a figure
has no basis,
has no substance,
isn’t even of dust;
it is only
a little bit possible
in the maddest
earthly life,
it is only
a construction
of the craving
for the enjoyment.
This is the writer.”

-Franz Kafka

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