Every age writes its own dialogues. Plato had Athens, with wine and philosophers reclining in the glow of Socratic irony. I have my own fireside, bottles scattered across an oak table, and a cast of minds whose shadows have shaped my own: Hardy, Wilde, Dostoevsky, Nietzsche, Jung, Scruton - and, for my own amusement, Hartley … Continue reading A Symposium of Souls