Good evening and thank you for joining me for another boring books for bedtime.

I hope tonight selection provides all the boredom your busy brain needs to quiet down and let you get some sleep.

So find a comfortable spot.

Adjust your volume,

take a nice deep breath in,

let it out slowly, and off we go.

For our 100th rating, I thought it would be nice to return to one of your favorites. So let's relax on the shores of a small pond

with Walden by Henry David Thoreau, first published in 1854.

Let's pick up where we left off.

Visitors.

I think that I love society as much as most,

and am ready enough to fasten myself like a bloodsucker

to any full-blooded man that comes in my way.

I am naturally no hermit, but might possibly sit out the sturdiest frequententer of the bar room if my business called me thither.

I had three chairs in my house, one for solitude,

friendship, three for society. When visitors came in larger and unexpected numbers.

There was but the third chair for them all, but they generally economized the room by

standing up. It is surprising how many great men and women a small house will contain.

I have had 25 or 30 souls with their bodies at once under my roof.

And yet we often parted without being aware that we had come very near to one another.

Many of our houses, both public and private, with their almost innumerable apartments, their huge halls and their

cellars for the storage of wines and other munitions of peace, appear to be extravagantly large for their inhabitants.

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