Thus the inscription on Arnold Trampe’s T-shirt this afternoon. Arthur Schopenhauer’s name was underneath it in smaller font. “The worst is still to come,” I hesitantly translated from the Dutch. Arnold nodded with a big grin on his face. “Oh,” I went on, “I love Schopenhauer!” For some strange reason, this little bit of wisdom made me very happy. For a brief moment, I was not alone in my foreboding.

Addendum (September 21, 2015)

The worst is still to come, indeed. This little bit of wisdom makes me happy to this day, but the reason for it is not only in the wisdom shared with the philosopher of renown. It goes deeper, as it were. For some strange reason, I believe that the worst will come after my death, which is why I do not mind my advancing age one single bit. What if it comes before my death, though? I cringe, of course. And I do my best to persuade myself that the next decade or two will be pure heaven by comparison with the purgatory and hell still to come by the end of this century and a few centuries to follow. My persuasion skills falter sooner or later, though, and I cringe for true. How in the world can I be so sure about anything as fickle as the human species? Returning to Schopenhauer, chances are that he was already in his dotage when he came up with this cute little line.