Montaigne was a 16th century French essayist who scribbled away on an eclectic range of topics, from cannibals to friendship to idleness to solitude.
Here’s an excerpt from one of his essays (Power of the Imagination):
We are right to note the licence and disobedience of this member which thrusts itself forward so inopportunely when we do not want it to, and which so inopportunely lets us down when we most need it; it imperiously contests for authority with our will: it subbornly and proudly refuses all our incitements, both of the mind and hand.
Folks, do you have any idea at all what Montaigne is writing about in the above excerpt?
Montaigne, dear reader, is writing about the .