In praise of beauty

Abstract

One of the misfortunes of aging is the way in which the polite willingness of others to tolerate superannuated homilies reinforces a proclivity to pontificate. As one ages, one moves from writing papers that have something to say to writing papers that have nothing to say but say it with great seriousness. Unfortunately, awareness of the self-indulgence of age does not ordinarily inhibit it, as this essay, for which Olivier Germain (and possibly Milan Kundera) must take some responsibility, clearly demonstrates.