Kant has composed a disquisition on the Living Powers: I, for my part, would like to write a dirge and a threnody for them because their exceedingly frequent employment in knocking, hammering, and clattering has been, throughout my life, a daily source of anguish. #Racket noise cracked#Although it is a fact that judged by them his generalisation shows fewer cracks than most generalisations.” The following mass of cracked and flagrant generalization is excerpted from the great post-Kantian pessimist’s 1851 collection of essays, Parerga and Paralipomena-two volumes much concerned with human suffering and its sources, among them: women, bad poetry, and noise. a philosopher that can be read like a poet, with an entire indifference to the a priori forms of verification. I always knew he was one of the ones that mattered most to me. In 1937, a 31-year-old Samuel Beckett, convalescing from a spell of “gastric flu (so called)” and his first completed novel, Murphy, wrote to Thomas McGreevy: “When I was ill I found the only thing I could read was Schopenhauer. Everything else I tried only confirmed the feeling of sickness.
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