Wishing that you should show, if your feelings permit it, my letters to your parents, in all simplicity, generosity, and affection, I would like to tell you that for some time now I have not found anything here to write about, because I have already written so many things. I’m sure you’ll understand this. Then I happened to read a small, silly sort of book, the kind you buy for a few cents at a kiosk, and it was most nicely entertaining to read it. I had read my fill of good books. Is it conceivable that you’ll understand what I mean? If so, it would be most kind of you. All the girls here find me enormously boring, because they are all spoiled by zesty young bucks. Our masculine world can be very self-assured in its behavior. Once I took the liberty of sending, for instance, to a singer in our meritorious municipal theater, as token of my admiration, a copy of my book Aufsätze, published by Kurt Wolff. The book was returned, with the observation that I hadn’t yet learned to write German.
