Kafka Metamorphosis Quotes

I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.

As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.

How about if I sleep a little bit longer and forget all this nonsense",

What am I doing here in this endless winter?

Was he an animal, that music could move him so? He felt as if the way to the unknown nourishment he longed for were coming to light.

He was a tool of the boss, without brains or backbone.

What's happened to me,' he thought. It was no dream.

Calm —indeed the calmest— reflection might be better than the most confused decisions

I only fear danger where I want to fear it.

The books we need are of the kind that act upon us like a misfortune, that makes us suffer like the death of someone we love more than ourselves, that make us feel as though we were on the verge of suicide, lost in a forest remote from all human habitation.

He thought back on his family with deep emotion and love. His conviction that he would have to disappear was, if possible, even firmer than his sister's. He remained in this state of empty and peaceful reflection until the tower clock struck three in the morning. He still saw that outside the window everything was beginning to grow light. Then, without his consent, his head sank down to the floor, and from his nostrils streamed his last weak breath.

the blend of absurd, surreal and mundane which gave rise to the adjective "kafkaesque

The sister played so beautifully. Her face was tilted to one side and she followed the notes with soulful and probing eyes. Gregor advanced a little, keeping his eyes low so that they might possibly meet hers. Was he a beast if music could move him so?

One morning, as Gregor Samsa was waking up from anxious dreams, he discovered that in his bed he had been changed into a monstrous bug…

The door could not be heard slamming; they had probably left it open, as is the custom in homes where a great misfortune has occurred.

Was he an animal if music could captivate him so? It seemed to him that he was being shown the way to the unknown nourishment he had been yearning for.

And so gentlemen, I learned. Oh, if you have to learn, you learn; if you’re desperate for a way out, you learn; you learn pitilessly. You stand over yourself with a whip in your hand; if there’s the least resistance, you lash yourself.

What a fate: to be condemned to work for a firm where the slightest negligence at once gave rise to the gravest suspicion! Were all the employees nothing but a bunch of scoundrels, was there not among them one single loyal devoted man who, had he wasted only an hour or so of the firm's time in the morning, was so tormented by conscience as to be driven out of his mind and actually incapable of leaving his bed?

However, Gregor had become much calmer. All right, people did not understand his words any more, although they seemed clear enough to him, clearer than previously, perhaps because had gotten used to them

Als Gregor Samsa eines Morgens aus unruhigen Träumen erwachte, fand er sich in seinem Bett zu einem ungeheueren Ungeziefer verwandelt.

But Gregor understood easily that it was not only consideration for him which prevented their moving, for he could easily have been transported in a suitable crate with a few air holes; what mainly prevented the family from moving was their complete hopelessness and the thought that they had been struck by a misfortune as none of their relatives and acquaintances had ever been hit.

One night a friend lent me a book of short stories by Franz Kafka. I went back to the pension where I was staying and began to read The Metamorphosis. The first line almost knocked me off the bed. I was so surprised. The first line reads, “As Gregor Samsa awoke that morning from uneasy dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect. . . .” When I read the line I thought to myself that I didn’t know anyone was allowed to write things like that. If I had known, I would have started writing a long time ago. So I immediately started writing short stories.

Then his head sank to the floor of its own accord and from his nostrils came the last faint flicker of his breath.

His biggest misgiving came from his concern about the loud crash that was bound to occur and would probably create, if not terror, at least anxiety behind all the doors. But that would have to be risked.

إنه النسيان الألف للحلم الذي ترائي ألف مرة، وتم نسيانه ألف مرة.

A picture of my existence... would show a useless wooden stake covered in snow... stuck loosely at a slant in the ground in a ploughed field on the edge of a vast open plain on a dark winter night.

His growing lack of concern for the others hardly surprised him, whereas previously he had prided himself on being considerate.

If they were shocked, then Gregor had no further responsibility and could be calm. But if they took everything calmly, he he, too, had no reason to get excited and could, if he hurried, actually be at the station by eight o'clock.

If I didn't have my parents to think about I'd have given in my notice a long time ago, I'd have gone up to the boss and told him just what I think, tell him everything I would, let him know just what I feel. He'd fall right off his desk! And it's a funny sort of business to be sitting up there at your desk, talking down at your subordinates from up there, especially when you have to go right up close because the boss is hard of hearing.

فإن فكرة من الأفكارلا يمكن أن تنقرض مهما كانت متطفلة ,ما دامت قد وجدت ذات مرة، أو أنها لا يمكنها على الأقل أن تنقرض دون صراع رهيب، ودون أن تتمكن من تحقيق لنفسها دفاعا فعلا ينجح في أن يثبت طويلا.

A man might find for a moment that he was unable to work, but that's exactly the right time to remember his past accomplishments and to consider that later on, when the obstacles has been removed, he's bound to work all the harder and more efficiently.

Then birds flew up like a shower of sparks, I followed them with my eyes and saw how they rose in a single breath, until they seemed no longer to be rising but I to be falling...

Gregor’s serious wound, from which he suffered for over a month - the apple remained imbedded in his flesh as a visible souvenir since no one dared to remove it - seemed to have reminded even his father that Gregor was a member of the family, in spite of his present pathetic and repulsive shape, who could not be treated as an enemy; that, on the contrary, it was the commandment of the family duty to swallow their disgust and endure him, endure him and nothing more.

It was half past six and the hands were quietly moving forwards.

[He] used to be so insignificant that one literally felt alone in his presence.

WHEN Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from troubled dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a monstrous insect.

But perhaps the enthusiastic sensibility of young women of her age also played a role. This feeling sought release at every opportunity, and with it Grete now felt tempted to want to make Gregor's situation even more terrifying, so that then she would be able to do even more for him than now.

As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect. He was laying on his hard, as it were armor-plated, back and when he lifted his head a little he could see his domelike brown belly divided into stiff arched segments on top of which the bed quilt could hardly keep in position and was about to slide off completely. His numerous legs, which were pitifully thin compared to the rest of his bulk, waved helplessly before his eyes.

I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.

Did he really want this warm room of his, so comfortably fitted with old family furniture, to be transformed into a cave, in which, no doubt, he would be free to crawl about unimpeded in all directions, but only at the price of rapidly and completely forgetting his human past at the same time?

...they had so much to worry about at present that they had lost sight of any thought for the future.

Selfishness is one of the surest signs of profound unhappiness.

It is to us artisans and tradesmen that the salvation of the fatherland is entrusted; but we are not equal to such a task; never, indeed, have we claimed that we were capable of performing it. It is a misunderstanding; and it is proving our ruin.

Away in the distance, a train appeared behind the trees, all its compartments were lit, the windows were sure to be open. One of us started singing a ballad, but we all wanted to sing. We sang far quicker than the speed of the train, we swung our arms because our voices weren't enough, our voices got into a tangle where we felt happy. If you mix your voice with others' voices, you feel as though you're caught on a hook. (trans. Michael Hofmann)

I hope it is nothing serious. On the other hand, I must also say that we business people, luckily or unluckily, however one looks at it, very often simply have to overcome a slight indisposition for business reasons.

ولا شك أن آبائنا الأولين عندما أخطأوا، لم يكونوا قد توهموا علي الأغلب أدنى وهم بان خطائهم ذاك كان خطأ لا نهاية له. فلقد كان ما يزال في وسعهم أن يروا بالفعل مفترق الطرق . ولقد كان سهلا ظان يتراجعوا متى شاؤوا ذلك . فأذ كانوا ترددوا في التراجع . فلقد كان ذلك فقط لأنهم رغبوا في أن يتمتعوا بحياة الكلاب لفترة قصيرة أخرى .أن حياتهم لم تكن بعد قد أصبحت حياة الكلب الحقيقية . إلا أنها بدت في أعينهم وقتها حياه جميله ساحره الصورة فماذا يمكنها أن تكون غير ذلك إنهم لم يدركوا ما الذي يسعنا أن نظنه الآن متأملين مجري التاريخ ...بان ذلك التغير قد بدأ في الروح قبل أن يبتدي في وجوده الملموس.

Nobody reaches through here, least of all with a message from one who is dead. You, however, sit at your window and dream of the message when evening comes.

He slid back into his previous position. 'Getting up so early,' he thought, 'makes one entirely stupid. People must have their sleep.

He who has read Kafka’s Metamorphosis and can look into his mirror unflinching may technically be able to read print, but is illiterate in the only sense that matters.

Girls of that age, though, do become enthusiastic about things and feel they must get their way whenever they can.

Oh, God”, he thought, “what a strenuous career it is that I’ve chosen! Travelling day in and day out. Doing business like this takes much more effort than doing your own business at home, and on top of that there’s the curse of travelling, worries about making train connections, bad and irregular food, contact with different people all the time so that you can never get to know anyone or become friendly with them. It can all go to Hell!

What are you reading?’ he asks this afternoon. ‘Kafka’s Metamorphosis,’ George says, without looking up. ‘And what’s it about?’ ‘Guy turns into a giant bug and eventually dies.’ ‘Not exactly life-affirming,’ Martin observes. ‘Life isn’t exactly life-affirming,’ George says. ‘How have you been able to read so many books?’ he asks, and she looks up from Kafka, her thumb marking the page. ‘I’m a weird girl in high school. I’ve had some time to kill.

It seems hard to remain a bachelor...to model your appearance and behaviour on one or two bachelors remembered from your youth. That is how it will be, only that in reality it will be you yourself standing there, today and later, with a body and a real head, and so with a brow too, to strike with your hand.

He had always believed that his father had not been able to save a penny from the business, at least his father had never told him anything to the contrary, and Gregor, for his part, had never asked him any questions. In those days Gregor's sole concern had been to do everything in his power to make the family forget as quickly as possible the business disaster which had plunged everyone into a state of total despair. And so he had begun to work with special ardor and had risen almost overnight from stock clerk to traveling salesman, which of course had opened up very different money-making possibilities, and in no time his successes on the job were transformed, by means of commissions, into hard cash that could be plunked down on the table at home in front of his astonished and delighted family. Those had been the wonderful times, and they had never returned, at least not with the same glory, although later on Gregor earned enough money to meet the expenses of the entire family and actually did so. They had just gotten used to it, the family as well as Gregor, the money was received with thanks and given with pleasure, but no special feeling of warmth went with it any more.

All he wanted to do now was to get up quietly and undisturbed, get dressed, and, most important, eat breakfast, and only then consider what to do next, because, as he was well aware, in bed he could never think of anything through to a reasonable conclusion.

The man from the country has not expected such difficulties; the law, he thinks, should be accessible to everyone and at all times; but as he now takes a closer look at the doorkeeper in his fur coat, at his large pointed nose, his long, sparse, black Tartar beard, he decides that it is better, after all, to wait until he receives permission to enter.

Gregor's glance then turned to the window. The dreary weather—the rain drops were falling audibly down on the metal window ledge—made him quite melancholy.

Oare era doar un simplu animal,când muzica îl emoționa atât de profund?Avea impresia că descoperă,în fine,calea către hrana necunoscută pe care o dorea atât de mult.

Writing, when it springs from within, is like giving birth, and the child is covered in mucus

In a way, I was already punished before I knew I had done anything wrong.

He slid back again into his earlier position. "This getting up early," he thought, "makes a man quite idiotic. A man must have his sleep. Other travelling salesmen live like harem women. For instance, when I come back to the inn during the course of the morning to write up the necessary orders, these gentlemen are just sitting down to breakfast. If I were to try that with my boss, I'd be thrown out on the spot. Still, who knows whether that mightn't be really good for me? If I didn't hold back for my parents' sake, I'd have quit ages ago. I would've gone to the boss and told him just what I think from the bottom of my heart. He would've fallen right off his desk! How weird it is to sit up at that desk and talk down to the employee from way up there. The boss has trouble hearing, so the employee has to step up quite close to him. Anyway, I haven't completely given up that hope yet. Once I've got together the money to pay off my parents' debt to him—that should take another five or six years—I'll do it for sure. Then I'll make the big break. In any case, right now I have to get up. My train leaves at five o'clock

É bom quando nossa consciência sofre grandes ferimentos, pois isso a torna mais sensível a cada estímulo. Penso que devemos ler apenas livros que nos ferem, que nos afligem. Se o livro que estamos lendo não nos desperta como um soco no crânio, por que perder tempo lendo-o? Para que ele nos torne felizes, como você diz? Oh Deus, nós seríamos felizes do mesmo modo se esses livros não existissem. Livros que nos fazem felizes poderíamos escrever nós mesmos num piscar de olhos. Precisamos de livros que nos atinjam como a mais dolorosa desventura, que nos assolem profundamente – como a morte de alguém que amávamos mais do que a nós mesmos –, que nos façam sentir que fomos banidos para o ermo, para longe de qualquer presença humana – como um suicídio. Um livro deve ser um machado para o mar congelado que há dentro de nós

Kafka regarded the end of "The Metamorphosis"- its composition in interrupted by a business trip- as "unreadable." He also wrote in his diary that he found it"bad," but of course Kafka relished his failure. Failure is precisely what he expected and resolved to accomplish- and he hid behind it.

With a kind of perverse obstinancy his father refused to take off his official uniform even in the house; and while his robe hung uselessly on the clothes hook, his father dozed, completely dressed, in his chair, as if he were always ready for duty and were waiting even here for the voice of his superior.

His wounds, incidentally, must have healed up by now, he felt no handicap anymore, which was astonishing; for, as recalled, after he had nicked his finger with a knife over a month ago, the injury had still been hurting the day before yesterday. "Am I less sensitive now?" he wondered, greedily sucking at the cheese, which had promptly exerted a more emphatic attraction on him than any of the other food. His eyes watered with contentment as he gulped down the cheese, the vegetables, and the sauce in rapid succession. By contrast, he did not relish the fresh foods, he could not even stand their smells, and he actually dragged the things he wanted to eat a short distance away.

¿Acaso era un animal, que la música tanto le impresionaba?

فتحتا باب الشقة إلى أقصى ما يُمكن. ولم يسمع صوت انغلاقه، فلا شك أنهما تركتاه مفتوحا، كما يفعل ساكنو البيوت التي تحيق بها فاجعة ما.

What a fate, to be condemned to work for a firm where the smallest omission at once gave rise to the gravest suspicion!

he was soon believing that all his sorrows would soon be finally at an end.

you’ve undergone a total metamorphosis

This getting up early,” he thought, “makes a man quite idiotic.

I'm in a tight spot, but I'll also work my way out again.

Rather like "Orwellian", the term "Kafkaesque" has come to be used, often enough by those who have not read a word of Kafka, to describe what are perceived as typically or even uniquely modern traumas: existential alienation, isolation and insecurity, the labyrinth of state bureaucracy, the corrupt or whimsical abuse of totalitarian power, the impenetrable tangle of legal systems, the knock on the door in the middle of the night….

how would things go if now all tranquility, all prosperity, all contentment should come to a horrible end? In order not to lose himself in such thoughts, Gregor preferred to set himself moving, so he crawled up and down in his room.

Sobre su espalda y sus costados arrastraba consigo por todas partes hilos, pelos, restos de comida... Su indiferencia hacia todo era demasiado grande como para tumbarse sobre su espalda y restregarse contra la alfombra, tal como hacia antes varias veces al día.

No matter how keenly, how admirably, a story, a piece of music, a picture is discussed and analyzed, there will be minds that remain blank and spines that remain unkindled. 'To take upon us the mystery of things'—what King Lear so wistfully says for himself and for Cordelia—this is also my suggestion for everyone who takes art seriously. A poor man is robbed of his overcoat (Gogol’s The Greatcoat, or more correctly The Carrick); another poor fellow is turned into a beetle (Kafka’s The Metamorphosis)—so what? There is no rational answer to ‘so what.’ We can take the story apart, we can find out how the bits fit, how one part of the pattern responds to the other; but you have to have in you some cell, some gene, some germ that will vibrate in answer to sensations that you can neither define, nor dismiss. Beauty plus pity—that is the closest we can get to a definition of art. Where there is beauty there is pity for the simple reason that beauty must die: beauty always dies, the manner dies with the matter, the world dies with the individual.

With a kind of perverse obstinacy his father refused to take off his official uniform even in the house; and while his robe hung uselessly on the clothes hook, his father dozed, completely dressed, in his chair, as if he were always ready for duty and were waiting even here for the voice of his superior.

Capitalism does not merely oppress workers on the factory floor. It creates an entire culture in which the logic of oppression and competition become common sense. It turns people against each other and their mvn humanity. Like Franz Kafka's character in The Metamorphosis, Gregor Samsa, people are alienated from their human selves, isolated from their fellmv beings, and tortured by the loss of all that could be possible.

Die schwere Verwundung Gregors, an der er über einen Monat litt -- der Apfel blieb, da ihn niemand zu entfernen wagte, als sichtbares Andenken im Fleische sitzen --, schien selbst den Vater daran erinnert zu haben, daß Gregor trotz seiner gegenwärtigen traurigen und ekelhaften Gestalt ein Familienglied war, das man nicht wie einen Feind behandeln durfte, sondern dem gegenüber es das Gebot der Familienpflicht war, den Widerwillen hinunterzuschlucken und zu dulden, nichts als dulden.

There had been an attempt over the summer to mix that Camden Lock lot with this Caldwell lot, but Keisha Blake did not especially care for Baudelaire or Bukowski or Nick Drake or Sonic Youth or Joy Division or boys who looked like girls or vice versa or Anne Rice or William Burroughs of Kafka's Metamorphosis or CND or Glastonbury or the Situationists or Breathless or Samuel Beckett or Andy Warhol or a million other Camden things, and when Keisha brought a wondrous Monie Love 7-inch to play on Leah's hi-fi there was something awful in the way Leah blushed and conceded it was probably OK to dance to. They had only Prince left, and he was wearing thin.

Svako živi iza rešetaka koje nosi sa sobom. Zato se sada tako mnogo piše o životinjama. To je izraz čežnje za slobodnim, prirodnim životom. No, prirodni život za čoveka jeste ljudski život. To se, ipak, ne vidi. Nećemo da vidimo. Ljudska egzistencija je odveć tegobna, zato bismo da je se otarasimo, barem u fantaziji. [...] Vraćamo se životinji. To je znatno prostije od ljudske egzistencije. Dobro ušuškani usred stada, marširamo ulicama gradova na posao, na valove i u zadovoljstva. To je život strogo kao u kancelariji. Nema čuda, nego jedino uputstva za upotrebu, obrasci i propisi. Bojimo se slobode i odgovornosti. Stoga se radije gušimo iza rešetaka koje čak i sami popravljamo." (Kafka o "Preobražaju")

Orice om poate fi pentru o vreme în incapacitatea de-a lucra,dar atunci e momentul cel mai potrivit pentru a-ți aduce aminte de realizările lui anterioare și a te gândi că mai târziu,de-ndată ce dificultatea va fi învinsă,va depune cu atât mai multă sârguință și strădanie în munca lui.

Kafka’s friend Max Brod once said that when Kafka read The Metamorphosis aloud to him, Kafka laughed so hard that he fell out of his chair.

and if you run off down the long streets in the way you are doing — then for this evening, you have broken utterly from your family, who fade away into insubstantiality, while you yourself, absolutely solid, black and clear-cut, slapping your thighs, rise and assume your true form.

وقد انخرط مرة أخرى في سلك البشر، وأفعمت نفسه بالأمل في أن ينجلي الموقف عن نتائج خطيرة وخارقة على يد كل من الطبيب وحداد الكوالين، دون أي تمييز محدد - في الحقيقة - بينهما.

ومن ثم قال لنفسه أخيرا، وهو يطلق زفرة ارتياح عميقة: وهكذا لن أحتاج أخيرا إلى حداد الكوالين- ثم.. ضغط رأسه على مقبض الباب لكي ينفتح.

A veces también se tomaba el excesivo trabajo de empujar una butaca hasta la ventana, y, trepando por el alféizar, permanecía de pie en la butaca y apoyado en la ventana, sumido, sin duda, en sus recuerdos, pues antaño le interesaba siempre mirar por la ventana aquella.

The salvation of art derives in the best of modern times from a celebration of the triumph of the autonomous self—as in Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony—and in the worst of times from naming the unspeakable: the strange and feckless movements of the self trying to escape itself. Exhilaration comes from naming the unnameable and hearing it named. If Kafka’s Metamorphosis is presently a more accurate account of the self than Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, it is the more exhilarating for being so.

One day, upon awakening from troubled dreams, Gregor Samsa found himself, in his bed, transformed into a monstrous vermin.” —Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis One day, upon awakening, Haileab Asgedom found himself, in America, transformed into a monstrous black beetle.

Some of the time was spent in worries and vague hopes which, however, always led to the same conclusion. For the time being, he must remain calm, he must show patience and the greatest considerations so that his family could bear the unpleasantness that he, in his present condition, was forced to impose on them.

it looks worn to them in the mirror... almost not wearable at all.

In an enchanting encounter with the myriad books that I met in a cosy book shop today, I couldn't help but get bedazzled with the cornucopia of stories and poetry that lay snuggled in the plethora of shelves at display. You wouldn't believe it dear readers that I heard a real symphony in my ears at that very moment of this august encounter that happened in November. There was no rain today but the bright and sunny spirit of the day was as magical as any rainy day might have made me feel. I do not know about the other people in the book shop, but to me that very moment felt as if I was on cloud nine. Proverbially it felt as if I was listening with a mellifluous ecstasy to the magic of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake. At that exact moment when I lay my hands or rather I would say I grabbed my hands on the two books that I have been yearning to read since a long time, I guess the entire Universe paused. Now without having an iota of energy within me to any other further delay in experiencing the magic and in experiencing the mad euphoria that has serenaded my entire being, I take your leave my dearest readers to indulge myself with and in the most pleasurable way possible with Franz Kafka & Fyodor Dostoevsky.

Parables really set out to say merely that the incomprehensible is incomprehensible, and we know that already. We lose in parable the moment we pin things down to an accessible meaning.

Only sometimes in the evening, when they come home late from a party, it looks worn to them in the mirror... almost not wearable any more.

He slid back into his previous position. 'Getting up so early,' he thought, 'makes one entirely stupid. People must have their sleep.

The extremely effective rhetorical methods you constantly used, at least for my instruction, were curses, threats, sarcasm, mocking laughter and – curiously enough – self-pity.

These early mornings,' he thought, 'are very bad for the brain.

Selfishness is one of the surest signs of profound unhappiness; I was so unsure of everything that I only really possessed what I was actually holding in my hands or in my mouth, or at least what was on its way there –

since I was truly a disinherited son, I naturally enough became unsure about what was nearest to me – my own body.

Gregor, despite his now pathetic and repulsive shape, was a member of the family who could not be treated as an enemy; on the contrary, in accordance with family duty they were required to quell their aversion and tolerate him.