Day One Hundred and Seventy
The Aeneid Page: 311 It is a nearly inexpressible pleasure to read Virgil after slogging through Beckett. The crisp, impetuous swift poetry after the sluggish, plodding mush. I feel like I stepped out of a dank and smelly sickroom into a crisp, bracing winter morning. Here is purpose, drama, heroics. Here are quick deeds performed [...]