My mother, answered Telemachus, tells me I am son to Ulysses, but it is a wise child that knows his own father.

Kafka's work is an ellipse with foci that lie far apart and determined on the one hand by mystical experience (which is above all the experience of tradition)⁴ and on the other by the experience of the modern citydweller. When I speak of the experience of the citydweller, I subsume a variety of things under this notion. On the one hand, I speak of the modern citizen, who knows he is at the mercy of vast bureaucratic machinery, whose functioning is streered by authorities who remain nebulous even to the executive organs themselves, let alone the people they deal with. (It is well known that this encompasses one level of meaning in the novels, especially in The Trial.) On the other hand, by modern citydwellers I am speaking of the contemporary of today's physicist.

Cundeamor is derived from the Spanish name for the fruit of the Cerasee (Momordica Charantia) possessing a peculiar warted appearance.

Singular: in old Broglie's time, six years ago, this Whiff of Grapeshot was promised: but it could not be given then; could not have profited then.