And don't demand any sincerity from me, Milena. No one can demand it from me more than I myself and yet many things elude me, I'm sure, perhaps every… - Franz Kafka

And I could never understand why you were insensitive to the sorrow and shame you inflicted on me with your words and judgements – it was as if you didn’t sense your own power. And I certainly made you ill with words; but I knew what I was doing, though it hurt me, but I couldn’t control myself, I couldn’t hold back my words – though I regretted them. But you landed blows with your words and you were clueless – you never pitied anybody, not then, not later – and people were defenceless before you.

Nothing unites two people so completely, especially if, like you and me, all they have is words.

You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love.