Author:  Franz Kafka
Viewed: 68 - Published at: 7 years ago

For example, my choice of career. You generously and patiently gave me complete freedom. Though this followed the habits, or at least the values, of the Jewish middle class concerning their sons. And here your misunder-standing of my character worked its effect, which – together with your father's pride – blinded you to my real nature: to my weakness. In your opinion, I was always studying as a child, and later I was always writing. Looking back that is certainly not true. I can say with very little exaggeration, I barely studied and I learnt nothing; to have retained something after so many years of education wasn't remarkable for a man with a memory and some intelligence; but given the vast expenditure of time and money, and my outwardly easy, unburdened life, what I achieved with regard to knowledge, especially sound knowledge, was nothing – certainly when compared to what others managed. It is lamentable, but for me understandable. I always had such a deep concern about the continued existence of my mind and spirit, that I was indifferent to everything else. Jewish schoolboys have a reputation, for amongst them one finds the most improbable things; but my cold, barely disguised, permanent, childish, ridiculous, animal, self-satisfied indifference, and my cold and fantastical mind, are not things that I have ever met again – though admittedly they were just a defence against nervous destruction through fear and guilt. And I was worried about myself in all manner of ways. For example, I was worried about my health: I was worried about my hair falling out, my digestion, and my back – for it was stooped. And my worries turned to fear and it all ended in true sickness. But what was all that? Not actual bodily sickness. I was sick because I was a disinherited son, who needed constant reassurance about his own peculiar existence, who in the most profound sense never owned anything, and who was even insecure about the thing which was next to him: his own body.

( Franz Kafka )
[ Letter to My Father ]
www.QuoteSweet.com

TAGS :