What a mockery! To create! What am I, a galley slave ?" "My friend, you are in a prison." "My dear old man! When I begin to steal over to the slate with the sponge in my hand I feel like a murderer.

It happens that I go around it for a day or two.

Do you know, one day I bit off a finger of my right hand so as not to draw any more, but that, of course, was only a trifle, for I started to learn drawing with my left hand.

What is this necessity for creating! To create by all means, create for suffering--create with the knowledge that it will all perish! Do you understand it ?" "Finish it, my friend, don't be agitated; then I will expound to you my views." Unfortunately, my advice hardly reached the ears of K.In one of those paroxysms of despair, which frighten the Warden of our prison, K.began to throw himself about in his bed, tear his clothes, shout and sob, manifesting in general all the symptoms of extreme mortification.

I looked at the sufferings of the unfortunate youth with deep emotion (compared with me he was a youth), vainly endeavouring to hold his fingers which were tearing his clothes.