Miserable, miserable and yet well intended.
Yes, it is midnight, but since I am quite rested,
that is an excuse only in that I would have written
absolutely nothing during the day.
The lighted electric lamp, the quiet room,
the darkness outside, the last moment of waking,
they give me the right to write
even if that is the most miserable.
And this right I use hurriedly.
That’s how I am.

The diaries of Franz Kafka, 1910-1923 [ in progress ]

(thanks lot)