All I am is literature, and I am not able or willing to be anything else. - Franz Kafka

You once said that you would like to sit beside me while I write. Listen, in that case I could not write at all. For writing means revealing oneself to excess; that utmost of self-revelation and surrender, in which a human being, when involved with others, would feel he was losing himself, and from which, therefore, he will always shrink as long as he is in his right mind — for everyone wants to live as long as he is alive — even the degree of self-revelation and surrender is not enough for writing.
Writing that springs from the surface of existence — when there is no other way and deeper wells have dried up — is nothing, and collapses the moment a truer emotion makes the surface shake. That is why one can never be alone enough when one writes, why there can never be enough silence around one when one writes, why even night is not night enough.

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

It would be very unjust to say that you deserted me, but that I was deserted, and sometimes terribly so, is true.