When you stand in front of me and look at me, what do you know of the griefs that are in me and what do I know of yours?

When you stand in front of me and look at me, what do you know of the griefs that are in me and what do I know of yours?

When you stand in front of me and look at me, what do you know of the griefs that are in me and what do I know of yours?

— Franz Kafka, from a letter to Oskar Pollak, November 8, 1903

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