Kafka noted in his diary: 'I do not hope for victory, I do not enjoy the struggle for its own sake, I could only enjoy it because it is all I can do. As such the struggle does indeed fill me with a joy which is more than I can really enjoy, more than I can give, and I shall probably end by succumbing not to the struggle but to the joy.' He wanted to be miserable for his own satisfaction: the most secret part of this misery was such an intense form of joy that he spoke of dying of it. [ . . . ] Death alone was vast enough, sufficiently well hidden from the 'action-pursuing-the-goal' . . . In other words, in the acceptance of death, within the limitations of death, subordinated to the goal, Kafka found that sovereign attitude which aims at nothing, wants nothing, resumes, in a flash, its fullness and its wildness. There was nothing he could have asserted, or in the name of which he could have spoken.