Arthur Schopenhauer was a glum old boy.
It’s fair to say that living brought him little joy.
He thought, in fact, that life could hardly get much rougher
and that the essence of existence was to suffer.
Life’s a constant struggle, bringing no reward;
and if you did not have to struggle, you’d be bored.
The remedy? Stop wanting things you cannot get.
Accept that life is horrible and cease to fret.
And cultivate compassion. You are not alone.
To think on others’ pain distracts you from your own.
And music helps, when misery becomes acute.
So after supper, every night, he played the flute.