In the end nature is inexorable: it has no reason to hurry and sooner or later it takes what belongs to it. Unconsciously and inflexibly obedient to its own laws it doesn't know art just as it doesn't know freedom just as it doesn't know goodness.
Beauty is the disinterested one without which the ancient world refused to understand itself a word which both imperceptibly and yet unmistakably has bid farewell to our new world a world of interests leaving it to its own avarice and sadness.