It Was A Book To Kill Time

Still I Sojourn Here, Alone And Palely Loitering, Though The Sedge Is Withered From The Lake And No Birds Sing. For I Sent The Bath Towel To The Wash This Morning, And Omitted To Put Out Another. I Have No Towel.

Traveling Together Is A Great Test, Which Has Damaged Many Friendships And Even Honeymoons, And Some People Such As [thomas] Gray And Horace Walpole, Never Feel Quite The Same To One Another Again, And It Is Nobody's Fault, As One Knows If One Listens To The Stories Of Both, Though It Seems To Be Some People's Fault More Than Others.

Why Is Humanity So Excessive In The Way It Does Things? The Golden Mean Seems Out Of Fashion.

So They Left The Subject And Played Croquet, Which Is A Very Good Game For People Who Are Annoyed With One Another, Giving Many Opportunities For Venting Rancor.

The Very Utterness Of The Crash And Ruin, The Desperation Of The Case, Might Be Its Hope. On Ruins One Can Begin To Build. Anyhow, Looking Out From Ruins One Clearly Sees; There Are No Obstructing Walls.