O εκπληκτικά ακριβόλογος Kafka. Μια ζωή ανερμήνευτη, σπάνια, μια πένα από άλλο κόσμο και ένας σαρκασμός που μπορεί να συγκριθεί με τέσσερις-πέντε ακόμα: Musil, Joyce, Broch, Beckett, Nabokov (η αγία εξάδα του 20ου αιώνα). One sits in one’s tossed bedding and looks at the clock. It reads late morning. But we paint the evening with subdued colors and distant views that stretch on and on. And we rub our hands red with delight because our shadow grows long and so handsomely crepuscular. We adorn ourselves, secretly hoping that adornment will become our nature. And when people ask us about the life we intend to live, we form the habit, in spring, of answering with an expansive wave of the hand, which goes limp after a while, as if to say that it was ridiculously unnecessary to conjure up sure things. theamericanreader/28-august-1904-franz-kafka-to-max-brod/
Posted on: Thu, 29 Aug 2013 12:25:28 +0000
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