I contemplated around Dostoyevsky’s man from the underground and Schopenhauer’s takes of how to become free, their beautiful attempts of building a position of true observation of the condition of life, and utter defeat in their own style.One thing is to seek the truth, the other is to believe ones construct of independent thought to seek the truth, and without realising it becomes the very cage they supposedly escaped. Schopenhauer’s hate of love, Dostoyevsky’s false interpretation of suffering, amongst others show how stubborn the human mind is. The complacency to establish truth, the ever reappearing strawberry field of self-indulgence to ones intellect.