Good men by nature, wish to know. I know that many will call this

Host: The library was not a place of silence tonight — it breathed. The sound of pages turning, the low hum of lamps, and the faint crackle of the fireplace made the air feel alive, as if centuries of thought still whispered among the shelves of ancient books. Dust floated like gold in the light, and through the tall windows, the moonlight spilled in silver streaks across the polished wood floors.

Jack stood near the far wall, tracing the spine of an old volume with one hand, his grey eyes reflecting the firelight. The leather bindings glowed deep brown, the smell of parchment and age thick in the air.

Jeeny sat at a wooden table under the grand arched window, papers scattered, ink stains on her fingers, her brows drawn in quiet concentration. A small oil lamp burned beside her, its flame trembling as though aware it stood among ghosts.

From a speaker tucked in the corner of the room, an old recording — a scholar’s voice, solemn and reverent — filled the space:
"Good men by nature, wish to know. I know that many will call this useless work... men who desire nothing but material riches and are absolutely devoid of that of wisdom, which is the food and only true riches of the mind." — Leonardo da Vinci

The words unfurled like smoke, slow and deliberate.

Jeeny: (looking up) “He never spoke softly, did he? Even across centuries, it sounds like he’s scolding us.”

Jack: “He earned the right to. He spent his life chasing understanding while everyone else was chasing gold.”

Jeeny: “And yet, the world remembers the gold better than the wisdom.”

Jack: “That’s the world’s nature — to count coins louder than thoughts.”

Host: The fire popped, sending up a small burst of sparks. The shadows shifted, crawling over the walls like living ideas.

Jeeny: “You think that’s changed? Look around — people call curiosity a luxury now. Asking questions that don’t pay bills is a crime.”

Jack: “Because wisdom doesn’t trend.”

Jeeny: “Neither does peace.”

Host: She leaned back in her chair, the lamp glow outlining her face, a quiet frustration in her voice.

Jeeny: “Leonardo believed knowledge was nourishment — food for the mind. But now we consume information like fast food. Quick, cheap, and empty.”

Jack: “You’re romanticizing the past. Even in his time, people ignored thinkers. The Medici bankrolled art to decorate their wealth, not to enlighten the poor.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But he still believed knowing was an act of goodness — that men who wished to know were moral by nature.”

Jack: “And yet knowledge never stopped anyone from cruelty. Half the tyrants in history were educated.”

Jeeny: “Because education isn’t wisdom. Leonardo wasn’t praising knowledge for power — he was praising curiosity for humility.”

Host: Her voice softened at the last word. The firelight flickered across her face, her expression both fierce and tender. Jack turned, leaning against the shelves, his reflection caught in the glass of the framed maps behind him.

Jack: “You really think curiosity is moral?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because it’s selfless. You seek understanding not to own it, but to witness it. To connect.”

Jack: “Then why does knowledge so often divide us?”

Jeeny: “Because people confuse knowing of things with understanding through them.”

Host: The clock on the mantle ticked, the sound soft and inevitable. Jack walked toward the table, his shadow stretching long across the room.

Jack: “You ever wonder what he’d think of us now? Of our machines that think faster than people? Of our endless hunger for attention instead of truth?”

Jeeny: “He’d be horrified. Or fascinated. Probably both. He’d see the brilliance — but he’d mourn the purpose.”

Jack: “The irony is he built machines too. He dreamed of flight, of weapons, of inventions centuries ahead of his time. But all of it started with wonder.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s what separates him from the rest — he didn’t build to dominate, he built to understand.”

Jack: “So you think knowledge without compassion is empty?”

Jeeny: “No. It’s dangerous.”

Host: Her tone sharpened slightly, the lamp flame dancing as if reacting to her conviction.

Jeeny: “When curiosity dies, all that’s left is consumption — and people start mistaking wealth for wisdom, ownership for understanding.”

Jack: “Maybe that’s why he called them ‘devoid of wisdom’ — not because they lacked intellect, but because they’d stopped listening.”

Jeeny: “Yes. And when you stop listening, you stop evolving.”

Host: The fire crackled, and the sound of the rain began to tap faintly against the windowpanes. The room felt like a cathedral of thought — quiet, alive, eternal.

Jack sat down across from her, his tone softer now.

Jack: “You know, I used to think ambition was everything. That building something that lasts was the highest good. But maybe Leonardo was right — wisdom’s the only thing that actually survives time.”

Jeeny: “Because it changes whoever holds it.”

Jack: “And money changes everyone around them.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “Exactly. Wisdom expands. Wealth isolates.”

Host: The two sat in the lamplight, surrounded by the silent audience of books — centuries of minds stacked neatly, waiting to be remembered. The rain grew heavier outside, drumming a rhythm that matched the heartbeat of the scene.

Jack: “You know what I envy most about him?”

Jeeny: “What?”

Jack: “That he never stopped asking. Even when people mocked him for chasing things that couldn’t make him rich. I wonder if I could ever do that — dedicate myself to something that doesn’t pay, but fills the soul.”

Jeeny: “You could. If you stopped trying to measure meaning in profit.”

Jack: “Old habits die hard.”

Jeeny: “So does the hunger for truth.”

Host: Her voice softened, and something quiet passed between them — not romance, but reverence. Two souls sitting in the echo of a man who had seen farther than most and called it simply learning.

Jack reached for one of the open books in front of her, his fingers brushing the page — a sketch of human anatomy, muscles drawn with impossible grace.

Jack: “You know what’s strange? The man who studied the heart so deeply still believed it was the seat of the soul.”

Jeeny: “That’s not strange. That’s beautiful. He saw no conflict between science and wonder. That’s what we’ve lost — the unity of knowing and feeling.”

Jack: “So, knowledge and awe.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Without awe, wisdom becomes machinery. Without wisdom, knowledge becomes noise.”

Host: The flames dimmed lower now, the shadows lengthening across the shelves. Outside, thunder rumbled — not violently, but with depth, like a voice from the past agreeing quietly with her.

Jeeny: “You know, Leonardo’s words aren’t outdated. They’re a warning. He saw it then — that men obsessed with riches would starve their own minds.”

Jack: “And we’ve built empires on that hunger.”

Jeeny: “And called it progress.”

Jack: “So what do we do now?”

Jeeny: “Remember. That knowledge is not meant to feed our pride, but our purpose.”

Host: The words settled like dust — golden, slow, eternal. The clock struck midnight, and the rain eased into a whisper.

Jack looked around the room — the books, the drawings, the quiet firelight trembling like the pulse of a thought not yet finished.

Jack: “Maybe that’s why good men wish to know — because deep down, they remember that ignorance isn’t peace. It’s hunger in disguise.”

Jeeny: “And wisdom is the meal that never runs out.”

Host: Outside, lightning flashed — brief, blinding — illuminating the words of an ancient genius and the two souls still chasing him across time.

And as the night deepened, it became clear what Leonardo da Vinci had meant all along:

That knowledge is the language of love,
curiosity the purest act of faith,
and wisdom —
the only wealth the mind can keep when everything else fades.