In this love you are like a knife, with which I explore myself. –Franz Kafka
(And have I ever mentioned my old love and obsession with Kafka? Reading not just his books and stories but his diaries, his notebooks? The only good thing I took from my schooling was The Metamorphosis, which probably did more to scrape the inside of my skull than any other book save perhaps Somerset Maugham’s The Razor’s Edge. I spent years on Kafka.
Which reminds me; I ought to go out to the garage and find that copy of The Trial….)
Dude, he totally stole that from Baudelaire: “You, who as abruptly as a knife, have entered into my mournful heart”
Also, Sartre, talking about Baudelaire: “Baudelaire made up his mind at any rate he would explore himself as the knife explores the wound in the hope of reaching the “lonely depths” which constituted his true nature.”
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