The Metamorphosis - By Franz Kafka

‘Why don’t I keep sleeping for a little while longer and forget all this foolishness,’ he thought.

If I didn’t hold back for my parents’ sake, I would’ve quit ages ago. I would’ve gone to the boss and told him just what I think from the bottom of my heart.

I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.

One couldn’t hear the doors closing at all. They probably had left them open, as is customary in an apartment in which a huge misfortune has taken place.

They were cleaning out his room, taking away from him everything he cherished; they had already dragged out the chest of drawers in which the fret saw and other tools were kept, and they were now loosening the writing desk which was fixed tight to the floor, the desk on which he, as a business student, a school student, indeed even as an elementary school student, had written out his assignments.

If it were Gregor, he would have long ago realized that a communal life among human beings is not possible with such an animal and would have gone away voluntarily.