He filled a shelf with a small army of books and read and read; but none of it made sense.

An ice storm has arrived. Puskin was quick with advice. I enjoyed reading this famed verse, though I fear my anxiety was a constant companion. I especially enjoyed the use of letters--the missives crystalized the allusions. Gave them punch. It is a familiar story about the path of self-discovery and the elusiveness of true happiness. Decadence nor pastoral solitude appear to do the trick. There's lust and there's a duel. I'd like to reread this under calmer conditions.