a b c d e f g Seubert, Harald. "Bauer, Felice" (in German). kulturportal-west-ost.eu . Retrieved 2 August 2012. Knochiges leeres Gesicht, das seine Leere offen trug. Freier Hals. Überworfene Bluse ... Fast zerbrochene Nase. Blondes, etwas steifes, reizloses Haar, starkes Kinn.

The ineradicable peculiarity of Kafka's cast of mind is shown by his inability to learn from mistakes. Failure multiplied by failure does not, in his case, equal success. The difficulties always remain the same ones, as if to demonstrate that they are by nature insuperable." That said, the lengthy introduction by Heller is one of the most powerfully insightful pieces of critical writing on Kafka I've come across and it should not be missed. Whether out of self-protective rationalization or mere pragmatism — the onset of tuberculosis was, after all, what ended the relationship five years later — he plaintively points to a physiological reason, almost as an excuse for the psychological: Para que lo sepas, mi amor, pienso en ti con tanto amor y devoción como si Dios te hubiera confiado a mí con las más inequívocas palabras."Theatre Inconnu presents KAFKA THE MUSICAL by MURRAY GOLD". theatreinconnu.com. Theatre Inconnu . Retrieved 3 July 2013. He is no less avid for literature: “indubitable in me is the greed for books. . . . It’s as if this greed came from my stomach.” Comenzaría así una relación que terminará el día de Navidad de 1917, dos meses después de que Kafka escupe sangre y comienza a entender que su destino está sellado: la tuberculosis lo acechará e implacablemente lo matará el 3 de junio de 1924.

The myth of Kafka as an inveterate melancholic has not prepared us for his endearments toward stairs. From this master of self-flagellation we expect only litanies of miseries and maladies. And the diaries do include their share of obligatory despairing. Kafka takes evident pleasure in posturing as an incurable, and he is unfailingly dramatic about minor infirmities. When he has a headache, it is as if he has “two little boards screwed against my temples”; when he cannot sleep, he feels as if he has laid his head “in a false hole.” He was keenly sensitive to sound, and in a short piece later published in a magazine he whines that his bedroom is “the headquarters of the noise of the whole apartment.” His letters have much to say about his phobia of mice. As his biographer Reiner Stach so aptly puts it, “For this man absolutely anything could become a problem.” Despite the relatively short distance between Prague and Berlin, Kafka and Bauer would meet only a handful of times, become engaged twice and never marry. But their correspondence of hundreds of letters – which finished when Kafka wrote the last letter in 1917 and only came to the world’s attention in 1955, when Bauer sold his letters to her – is one of the most poignant chronicles of the human urge to share ourselves, while foregoing the vulnerability that such intimacy creates. Nothing unites two people so completely, especially if, like you and me, all they have is words Kafka, in a 1912 letter to Bauer I was also fond of his relationship with his youngest and favorite sister (he had three), Ottilie (who, sadly, was later murdered in the Holocaust). He would be the sweetest brother. The more than five hundred letters Kafka wrote to Felice - through their breakup, a second engagement in 1917, and their final parting in the fall of that year, when Kafka began to feel the effects of tuberculosis that would eventually claim his life -  reveal the full measure of his inner turmoil as he tried, in vain, to balance his desire for human connection with what he felt were the solitary demands of his craft.I actually think, counterintuitively, Kafka would make an excellent partner. He gives great credit to Felice's intelligence, wit, and education, and above all else sees her as an equal in every way (and bear in mind, these letters were written in the early 1910s, where that certainly wasn't a default). He's constantly concerned with her well-being and places her happiness above his at all times.

Lo que más me gusta de Kafka es las ganas que me hace venir de escribir. Pocos escritores lo consiguen. No se trata de que escriban bien. Nabokov y Dostoievski, otros de mis dos escritores favoritos, no me hacen venir ni el más débil deseo de escribir: todo lo contrario, me apabullan con su perfección y me convencen de que no vale la pena intentarlo. Pero no es que Kafka escriba mal. Por supuesto. Es por lo que cuenta y por la intensidad con la que lo hace. Grete Bloch - με την οποία παρεμπιπτόντως ο Kafka διέπραξε επιστολική απιστία απέναντι στη Felice, κάτι το οποίο οδήγησε στα γεγονότα του Askanischer Hof hotel, εκεί όπου οι δύο γυναίκες τον συνάντησαν και του κατέβασαν καντήλια και επτάφωτες λυχνίες - 8 Ιουνίου 1914) αναφέρει: Soy tuyo a más no poder, esto puedo decirlo gracias a la visión de conjunto que, a estas alturas, poseo sobre mis treinta años de existencia."a b c d Kakutani, Michiko (2 April 1988). "Books of the Times; Kafka's Kafkaesque Love Letters". The New York Times . Retrieved 8 August 2012.