It’s all been compromised, X tells me, his so-called friendships, loves, thoughts, everything. I can’t even do a hard day’s work or someone a favour without getting compromised. In the dossier they’re preparing on me there’ll be compromising pictures of me in all kinds of positions. Straining and leering. How could you let it come to this, he says, why didn’t you step in?
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Everyone carries a room about inside him. This fact can even be proved by means of the sense of hearing. If someone walks fast and one pricks up one's ears and listens, say in the night, when everything round about is quiet, one hears, for instance, the rattling of a mirror not quite firmly fastened to the wall.
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Kafka
- It is true I have a small room of my own, but that is not a home, only a place of refuge where I can hide my inner turmoil, only to fall all the more headlong into its clutches.
- Kafka
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