Nor is it perhaps really love when I say that for me you are the most beloved; In this love you are like a knife, with which I explore myself. - Franz Kafka

The true way goes over a rope which is not stretched at any great height but just above the ground. It seems more designed to make people stumble than to be walked upon.

"Everything you say is boring and incomprehensible," she said, "but that alone doesn't make it true."

"Oh well, memories,” said I. “Yes, even remembering in itself is sad, yet how much more its object! Don’t let yourself in for things like that, it’s not for you and it’s not for me. It only weakens one’s present position without strengthening the former one — nothing is more obvious — quite apart from the fact that the former one doesn’t need strengthening."