I’m a slow reader, and especially slow for this academically brilliantly-crafted literature by Ray Monk. Wittgenstein is a genius, totally, but the “ordinary parts” of himself capture every layer of my feeling about being humans: passionate at times and furiously weary while dealing with inner conflicts. He strictly accused of himself every little time and just “too pure to act falsely to others,” as stated by Sir Bertrand Russell.
I read the book around one of the most difficult time of my life. Every word struck me hard, to the point that I always take others’ words to act too hard on myself, until one part of the book shed light on the truth I had always tried to neglect upon. When Wittgenstein appreciated the stoic self and religious beliefs presented in the main character of a mediocre drama, that’s when I open my eyes wide.
I had been neglected the God inside me all those time.
English is not my first language, but under the dim light of the shaking bus, surfing my eyes through the printed-ink characters of this foreign language on digital paper, the sense of personal harmony gave me peace. Now I’m confident to shout it out that I’m happy that I didn’t stop believing, and trying.
So those are a few words about my feelings on this book. Will continue to enjoy it more. Have you all read this book? If you haven’t, it’s definitely my heavy recommendation to you. Happy reading!
by linerds22