In Oscar Wilde’s classic book, The Picture of Dorian Gray, Dorian, handsome beyond compare, sits before an accomplished artist for his portrait. Upon its completion he laments that while it will always reflect his youthful vigor, he himself will physically deteriorate over time.
I am persuaded that undisciplined men of this modern age have slopped up so much imitation pudding that they now habitually forgo the better choice--mom’s matchless homemade variety. I plead guilty. I speak of course, not of food, but of all realms of life where we choose increasingly to turn from that which nourishes. We wittingly sabotage ourselves.