The Light Pen of Great Authors Who Preceded Us

It was high time. I kissed whoever stood next to me, shook hands with three more fellows, and started to run home; no one called me back. At the first crossroads, where no one could see me, I turned, and followed a path back into the woods. I was heading for the great city in the south, of which they said in our village:
  'The people who live there! I tell you, they never sleep!'
  'Why don't they sleep?'
  'Because they never get tired!'
  'Why don't they get tired?'
  'Because they're fools.'
  'Don't fools get tired?'
  'How could fools get tired!'

(from: F. Kafka, 'Children on the Road', Contemplation, 1913)