grip
I have an unfair grip on you, haven’t i. I was a most dear companion and intimate of your daughter. Through her toughest times, no less. Through her final days. Through the fatal debacle that she faced. And she had an unfair grip on me…for all the same reasons. No way could I have abandoned her in that situation, no matter how strenuous and aggrieved the situation got. My determination was only doubled by her resolve that I let her go. I would let her go – would have to when the time came… I came to terms with that – but I would not, could not abandon her in her toughest time, her final days. I wish she never asked me or insisted on it. Yes, she had an unfair advantage on me. I could not in good conscious let her go and live with myself. So we drudged through the unfairness, through the uneasiness, through the rough waters, and just before all-would-be-alright, she parted, and all was not alright. Nothing was alright. Nor would be.
So you see, I realize I have an unfair advantage on you. And pray to god, I do not misuse, mishandle, or otherwise mis-cue it.
metamorphasis
No. You have acted decisively several times already and nothing was improved by it. Don’t try to explain it; I am sure you can explain the past, down to the last detail, considering that you are too timid to embark upon a future without having it thoroughly explained in advance–which is plainly impossible.[...]
Rise up, then. Mend your ways, escape officialdom, start seeing what you are instead of calculating what you should become. There is no question of your first task: become a soldier. [...]
The comparison with Grillparzer is valid, perhaps, but you don’t think Grillparzer a proper one to imitate, do you? an unhappy example whom future generations should thank for having suffered for them.
–Franz Kafka, Diaries, August 27, 1916
From a letter to Felice:
You belong to me, I have made you mind. I can’t believe that there was ever a woman in a fairy tale fought for harder and more desperately than I have fought for you within myself, from the beginning, and always anew, and perhaps forever. You belong to me then…
– Diaries, October 18, 1916
