Diplomats Make It Their Business To Conceal

The Mother Memories That Are Closest To My Heart Are The Small Gentle Ones That I Have Carried Over From The Days Of My Childhood. They Are Not Profound, But They Have Stayed With Me Through Life, And When I Am Very Old, They Will Still Be Near . . . Memories Of Mother Drying My Tears, Reading Aloud, Cutting Cookies And Singing As She Did, Listening To Prayers I Said As I Knelt With My Forehead Pressed Against Her Knee, Tucking Me In Bed And Turning Down The Light. They Have Carried Me Through The Years And Given My Life Such A Firm Foundation That It Does Not Rock Beneath Flood Or Tempest.

Very Early In My Childhood I Associated Poverty, Toil, Unemployment, Drunkenness, Cruelty, Quarreling, Fighting, Debts, Jail With Large Families.

I Wanted Each Woman To Be A Rebellious Vashti, Not An Esther.

Against The State, Against The Church, Against The Silence Of The Medical Profession, Against The Whole Machinery Of Dead Institutions Of The Past, The Woman Of Today Arises.

No Despot Ever Flung Forth His Legions To Die In Foreign Conquest, No Privilege-ruled Nation Ever Erupted Across Its Borders, To Lock In Death Embrace With Another, But Behind Them Loomed The Driving Power Of A Population Too Large For Its Boundaries And Its Natural Resources.