we know little, but that we must trust in what is difficult is a certainty that will never abandon us; it is good to be solitary, for solitude is difficult; that something is difficult must be one more reason for us to do it.

It is also good to love: because love is difficult.

but learning-time is always a long, secluded time, and therefore loving, for a long time ahead and far on into life, is–: solitude, a heightened and deepened kind of aloneness for the person who loves

Admit it. You aren’t like them. You’re not even close. You may occasionally dress yourself up as one of them, watch the same mindless television shows as they do, maybe even eat the same fast food sometimes. But it seems that the more you try to fit in, the more you feel like an outsider, watching the “normal people” as they go about their automatic existences. For every time you say club passwords like “Have a nice day” and “Weather’s awful today, eh?”, you yearn inside to say forbidden things like “Tell me something that makes you cry” or “What do you think deja vu is for?”. Face it, you even want to talk to that girl in the elevator. But what if that girl in the elevator (and the…man who walks past [you]…at work) are thinking the same thing? Who knows what you might learn from taking a chance on conversation with a stranger? Everyone carries a piece of the puzzle. Nobody comes into your life by mere coincidence. Trust your instincts. Do the unexpected. Find the others…

But now not another word, only kisses, and many of them for a thousand reasons—because it’s Sunday, because the weather is fine, or maybe because the weather is bad, because I write badly, and because I hope my writing will improve, and because I know so little about you and kisses are the only means of discovering something that counts,…

Franz Kafka, from a letter featured in Letters To Felice
(via violentwavesofemotion)