I worked hard, he says, I did my best, I think. My conscience should be clear, but it’s not, it never is, why is that? The judgement is coming, he says, the terrible sword is being lowered, but slowly, infinitely slowly.
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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
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