Kafka Penal Colony Quotes

You've seen yourself how difficult the writing is to decipher with your eyes, but our man deciphers it with his wounds.

Guilt is never to be doubted.

Enlightenment comes to even the dimmest. It begins around the eyes, and it spreads outward from there- a sight that might tempt one to lie down under the harrow oneself.

Many questions were troubling the explorer, but at the sight of the prisoner he asked only: "Does he know his sentence?" "No," said the officer, eager to go on with his exposition, but the explorer interrupted him: "He doesn't know the sentence that has been passed on him?" "No," said the officer again, pausing a moment as if to let the explorer elaborate his question, and then said: "There would be no point in telling him. He'll learn it on his body.

It's always questionable to intervene decisively in strange circumstances.

The corpses in the wasteland of past and present haunt us. We are still in Eliot's land of the dead, imprisoned in Kafka's penal colony, running from the unexplained rage of the golem, listening to Lovecraft's drumbeat of horror, and shivering in the chilly shadow of Grau and Murnau's Nosferatu. We cannot awaken from history.

Enlightenment comes to the most dull-witted. It begins around the eyes. From there it radiates.

How could a man not be sickened when the felt in his mouth had been gnawed and drooled on by more than a hundred men as they lay dying?

But the condemned man looked so submissively doglike that it seemed as if he might have been allowed to run free on the slopes and would only need to be whistled for when the execution was due to begin.

Cascar una nuez no es realmente un arte, y en consecuencia nadie se atrevería a congregar un auditorio para entretenerle cascando nueces. Pero si lo hace y logra su propósito, entonces ya no se trata meramente de cascar nueces. O tal vez se trate meramente de cascar nueces, pero entonces descubrimos que nos hemos despreocupado totalmente de dicho arte porque lo dominábamos demasiado, y este nuevo cascador de nueces nos muestra por primera vez la esencia real del arte, al punto de que podría convenirle, para un mayor efecto, ser un poco menos hábil en cascar nueces que la mayoría de nosotros.

Well, anyway- then came the sixth hour! It was not possible to grant every request to watch from close-up. In his wisdom, the commandant decreed that children should be given first priority. By virtue of my office, of courser, I was always nearby; often I was squatting there with a small child in either arm. How we drank in the transfigured look on the sufferer's face, how we bathed our cheeks in the warmth of that justice- achieved at long last and fading quickly. What times those were, my comrade!

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.

So now you know what else existed in the world outside of you, before you knew only about yourself!

By his own account he had no real contact with the local colony of his countrymen and virtually no social intercourse with the Russian families and so resigned himself to becoming an incurable bachelor.

At this point, almost against his will, he looked at the face of the corpse. It was as it had been in his life. He could discover no sign of the promised transfiguration. What all the others had found in the machine, the Officer had not. His lips were pressed firmly together, his eyes were open and looked as they had when he was alive, his gaze was calm and convinced. The tip of a large iron needle had gone through his forehead.

But Georg was not inclined to write of his commercial success to his friend, and were he to do so now, it would appear especially peculiar. So Georg always confined himself to relating the trivial matters that randomly arise from a disorganized memory on a reflective Sunday.

Should he be advised to come home, to transplant his life and resume all the old friendships- nothing prevented this- and generally rely on the help of friends? But all this would mean to him, and the more tactfully it was put the more offensive it would be, was that his every effort had been for naught, and he should finally abandon them, that he should return home and suffer being viewed by everyone as the prodigal returned forever, that only his friends had any understanding of things, and that he was a big child who must simply listen to those friends who had remained home and been successful.

Suggested Reading Nuha al-Radi, Baghdad Diaries Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin Jane Austen, Emma, Mansfield Park, and Pride and Prejudice Saul Bellow, The Dean’s December and More Die of Heartbreak Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland Joseph Conrad, Under Western Eyes Henry Fielding, Shamela and Tom Jones Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary Anne Frank, The Diary of Anne Frank Henry James, The Ambassadors, Daisy Miller, and Washington Square Franz Kafka, In the Penal Colony and The Trial Katherine Kressman Taylor, Address Unknown Herman Melville, The Confidence Man Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita, Invitation to a Beheading, and Pnin Sarah Orne Jewett, The Country of the Pointed Firs Iraj Pezeshkzad, My Uncle Napoleon Diane Ravitch, The Language Police Julie Salamon, The Net of Dreams Marjane Satrapi, Persepolis Scheherazade, A Thousand and One Nights F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby W. G. Sebald, The Emigrants Carol Shields, The Stone Diaries Joseph Skvorecky, The Engineer of Human Souls Muriel Spark, Loitering with Intent and The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie Italo Svevo, Confessions of Zeno Peter Taylor, A Summons to Memphis Mark Twain, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn Anne Tyler, Back When We Were Grownups and St. Maybe Mario Vargas Llosa, Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter Reading

He realized that his appearance was still constantly intolerable and must remain intolerable in the future.

Was he really eager to let the warm room, comfortably furnished with pieces he had inherited, be turned into a cavern in which he would, of course, then be able to crawl about in all directions without disturbance, but at the same time with a quick and complete forgetting of his human past as well?

I can't fashion myself into a different person who might be better suited to be his friend.

And thus it happens that the reader, the closer he comes to the novel's end, the more he wishes he were back in the summer with which it begins, and finally, instead of following the hero onto the cliffs of suicide, joyfully turns back to that summer, content to stay there forever.

As in Kafka's "Penal Colony", the accused was in this case denied any clarification as to the nature of her offenses. This omission, however, contained a message: "If you don't even know why you have earned this punishment, then it is clear that you are quite without conscience. Look within. Search. Try. Then your conscience will tell you what guilt you have brought upon yourself. Only then can you try to excuse yourself. Then, if you are lucky, you may be forgiven. But that depends on the mood of the powers-that-be.

There has never been a time in which I have been convinced from within myself that I am alive. You see, I have only such a fugitive awareness of things around me that I always feel they were once real and are now fleeting away. I have a constant longing, my dear sir, to catch a glimpse of things as they may have been before they show themselves to me. I feel that then they were calm and beautiful. It must be so, for I often hear people talking about them as though they were.

But as the correspondence progresses, it becomes obvious that now, unlike earlier with his mother, he can perceive and articulate his needs more and more clearly, that although he is in constant danger of subordinating his need to be a writer and to be alone to bourgeois ideals of familial happiness, he never succumbs to this danger. In the end, he knows he can never give up his writing without giving up himself, and he accepts the consequences. Since it is not possible for him to go on writing in the world from which he comes without suffering from guilt feelings, he pays for his decision by becoming ill. 5. Kafka's insight into the origins of his tuberculosis can help us in our attempts to understand psychosomatic illnesses and their societal context. Don't we as therapists make it difficult for patients to live their own lives if we have preconceived ideas about what constitutes happiness, psychic health, social commitment, altruism and goodness in a person? According to these conventional standards, still very prevalent today, Franz Kafka was a neurotic or an eccentric, whom a psychotherapist would be tempted to "socialize" in order to enable him to marry Felice. One of my goals in this chapter is to make clear how absurd such an attempt would be. A visionary of rare greatness and dept came into being, and it is obvious that his attempts to adhere to bourgeois norms were bound to fail. Whether humankind cares to pay heed or not, the prophetic power of "In the Penal Colony" endures (...) because he took his own experiences seriously and thought them through to their bitter end. Advocates of manipulative strategies in psychotherapy could counter my views by saying that not everyone has the talent of a Franz Kafka and that most people seek help because they would like to get along better with others, because they suffer from their symptoms, want to improve their relationships, cannot being themselves to marry, and the like. I would reply that these were precisely the complains Kafka had. It would be disastrous, however, not to perceive the longing to find one's true self inherent in these complains.

He wanted to push against the feet while the other two men grabbed the head at the opposite end so that the officer could be eased off the needles. But the two men could not make up their minds to come over; the prisoner even turned away. The traveler had to go over and violently shove them toward the officer’s head. In so doing, he reluctantly saw the face of the corpse. It was as it had been in life; no sign of the promised redemption was perceptible; the officer has not found what all the others had found in the machine. His lips were squeezed tight, his eyes were open, with the same expression as in life, his gaze was calm and convinced, the point of the large iron spike had passed through his forehead.

Con las preguntas sólo ardo yo mismo, quiero encenderme con el silencio que me rodea, que es la única respuesta. Investigaciones de un perro

No es cierto, puedes andar. Precisamente porque pareces estar muy débil, te pido que te vayas despacio; si te demoras, luego tendrás que correr. ¿Te avergüenzas de tus fracasos? También yo fracasé. Cuando estoy solo, aúllo apenado por ello. Ven conmigo, entre dos es mucho más llevadero. Investigaciones de un perro

Der Grundsatz, nach dem ich entscheide, ist: Die Schuld ist immer zweifellos.

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