"...Nobody will read what I say here, no one will come to help me; even if all the people were commanded to help me, every door and window would remain shut, everybody would take to bed and draw the bedclothes over his head the whole earth would become an inn for the night. And there is sense in that, for nobody knows of me, and if anyone knew he would not know where I could be found, and if he knew where I could be found, he would not know how to deal with me, he would not know how to help me. The thought of helping me is an illness that has to be cured by taking to one's bed. I know that, and so I do not shout to summon help, even though at moments - when I lose control over myself, as I have done just now, for instance - I think seriously of it. But to drive out such thoughts I need only look round me and verify where I am, and- I can safely assert- have been for hundreds of years." - from "The Hunter Gracchus"
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Kafka's Saddest Paragraph
That most unfortunate Hunter Gracchus - drifting invisibly through time, eternally stranded between this world and the next - no one knows about him, no one thinks about him, no one will seek him out, no one will find him or hear of him or be able to offer him help or commiserate with his plight...It's quite a symbol that Kafka invokes for us, and it makes me wonder about the type of isolation he was really referring to. It's enough to make deep-thinkers seek out more mundane distractions to lose themselves in...
"...Nobody will read what I say here, no one will come to help me; even if all the people were commanded to help me, every door and window would remain shut, everybody would take to bed and draw the bedclothes over his head the whole earth would become an inn for the night. And there is sense in that, for nobody knows of me, and if anyone knew he would not know where I could be found, and if he knew where I could be found, he would not know how to deal with me, he would not know how to help me. The thought of helping me is an illness that has to be cured by taking to one's bed. I know that, and so I do not shout to summon help, even though at moments - when I lose control over myself, as I have done just now, for instance - I think seriously of it. But to drive out such thoughts I need only look round me and verify where I am, and- I can safely assert- have been for hundreds of years." - from "The Hunter Gracchus"
"...Nobody will read what I say here, no one will come to help me; even if all the people were commanded to help me, every door and window would remain shut, everybody would take to bed and draw the bedclothes over his head the whole earth would become an inn for the night. And there is sense in that, for nobody knows of me, and if anyone knew he would not know where I could be found, and if he knew where I could be found, he would not know how to deal with me, he would not know how to help me. The thought of helping me is an illness that has to be cured by taking to one's bed. I know that, and so I do not shout to summon help, even though at moments - when I lose control over myself, as I have done just now, for instance - I think seriously of it. But to drive out such thoughts I need only look round me and verify where I am, and- I can safely assert- have been for hundreds of years." - from "The Hunter Gracchus"
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