"How the fatigues and annoyances of travel fill one with bitter prejudices
sometimes! I might enter Florence under happier auspices a month hence
and find it all beautiful, all attractive. But I do not care to think of
it now, at all, nor of its roomy shops filled to the ceiling with snowy
marble and alabaster copies of all the celebrated sculptures in Europe--
copies so enchanting to the eye that I wonder how they can really be
shaped like the dingy petrified nightmares they are the portraits of."
Mark Twain literate cynicism about travel might be the perfect antidote to my current fatigue. I hope last night's rest, more of Mr. Clemens' wit and a good breakfast will get me on a happier path.