Tel Aviv Appeals To Me.

The Feeble Soul Merely Whines And Complains.

The More Wants A Man Has, The Less Freedom.

Honest Men Live On Charity In Their Age; The Almshouses Are Full Of Men Who Never Stole A Copper Penny. Honest Men Are The Fools And The Saints.

I Shudder At The Very Thought Of Being Born Again Into This World. Life To Me . . . Has Been A Monstrous, Painful, Agonizing Affair, And The Idea Of Repeating Such An Existence - Even If Better In A Way - Is Horrifying To Me. . . . I Gratefully Look Forward To Oblivion, But I Must Be Sure Of It.

There Is No Solid Satisfaction In Any Career For A Woman Like Myself. There Is No Home, No True Freedom, No Hope, No Joy, No Expectation For Tomorrow, No Contentment. I Would Rather Cook A Meal For A Man And Bring Him His Slippers And Feel Myself In The Protection Of His Arms Than Have All The Citations And Awards And Honors I Have Received Worldwide, Including The Ribbon Of Legion Of Honor And My Property And My Bank Accounts. They Mean Nothing To Me. And I Am Only One Among The Millions Of Sad Women Like Myself.