“I welcome truth, I fondle it, in whosesoever hand I find it; I surrender to it cheerfully, welcoming it with my vanquished arms as soon as I see it approaching from afar”. With the exception of love, and perhaps beauty, truth is the only power to which, once beaten, we can’t but gladly submit. We smile as we bow our heads in its royal presence, and cheer the conquest of its arrival. It’s the supreme force, greater than any other, before which we unhesitatingly genuflect, and to which we happily commit our lightsome fate. Truth, steady in its march toward us from the dusky haze of the horizon, is but one consequence of good, earnest, and lucid conversation. This, I think, is conversation’s art, and its end.