 |
| photo by celia g. |
In the
newspapers, in conversation, in the office, the impetuosity of language often
leads one astray, also the hope, springing from temporary weakness, for a
sudden and stronger illumination in the very next moment, also mere strong self-confidence,
or mere carelessness, or a great present impression that one wishes at any cost
to shift into the future, also the opinion that true enthusiasm in the present
justifies any future confusion, also delight in sentences that are elevated in
the middle by one or two jolts and open the mouth gradually to its full size
even if they let it close much too quickly and tortuously, also the slight
possibility of a decisive and clear judgment, or the effort to give further
flow to the speech that has really ended, also the desire to escape from the
subject in a hurry, one's belly if it must be, or despair that seeks a way out
for its heavy breath, or the longing for a light without shadow—all this can
lead one astray to sentences like: “The book which I have just finished is the
most beautiful I have ever read,” or, “is more beautiful than any I have ever
read.”
Franz
Kafka,
Paganini- Liszt, La
campanella
