From Kafka's "Letters to Felice"

Two recent bits I delighted in.

     At first I was almost frightened by the man from Cairo. He is sure to be a good German, Arab draped in a sheet, chasing you in the empty office. What's the good of my place at your desk! Better to be the night watchman in your factory than so distant a lover as I.

***

You once said you would like to sit beside me while I write. Listen, in that case I could not write (I can't do much, anyway), but in that case I could not write at all. For writing means revealing oneself to excess; . . . This is why one can never be alone enough when one writes, why there can never be enough silence around one when one writes, why even night is not night enough.