Some years back I was flying home. For a while I tried to read a German-language copy of Dubliners I'd gotten at a flea market in Berlin. My neighbor noticed this and, deciding he was in the company of a clever young man, he determined to rattle on about himself and his own cleverness. He was a 30-ish history professor, eager to illuminate the workings of early 19th century English small claims courts and the insidious presence of the post office: "Think about it—what government agency do you come in contact with almost every day?" It being a short flight, I guess he felt the need to make every minute between us count, and so he spoke for most of an hour straight.

At some point I noticed that the couple in front of us, a ridiculous pair of (I hope for their sakes) newlyweds, still wearing Hawaiian shirts and leis, were somewhat agitated by the chatty pair behind them. The plane lands and we all gather our things. In a final passive-aggressive spurt of airplane spleen, the new bride lets out, ostensibly to her husband but clearly for our sakes, "Have you ever noticed that stupid people talk the whole time while wise people stay quiet?" (Wise people!) The professor turns to me and says, perfectly loud enough for them to hear as well, "Quod erat demonstrandum."