'Books alone are among the necessities of life, and everything else is a luxury.' History tells us that all who attained eminence in most fields were readers first and foremost, Napoleon at their head. He once complained to the warden of his prison on the island of Saint Helena, saying: 'Reading is as necessary for the nourishment of my mind as food is for the nourishment of my body.' And it is certain that whoever reads much speaks with ease and eloquence.

How many of those who go to the cinema care for nothing but the names of the actors and actresses, their beauty and their clothes, forever repeating their sayings — yet take no interest in the name of the author of the story, or why he wrote it, or what he intends by it, or what idea he wishes to spread among people, and what examples he wants the audience to take to heart. But you must savor the writer's meanings and grasp his purposes. Such careful reading awakens your thoughts to a knowledge of the realities of life's affairs in a serious, felt way. Observe yourself well, and you will find that feeling and the instinctive sensations inspire you and demand insistently that you listen to them and obey them; for feeling comes into contact with reason, and from that is born discrimination; and from discrim-ination is born understanding; and from understanding is born knowledge. Then you pass judg-ment on your feeling — whether the conclusions you drew from it were good for you or bad — and you carry out the judgment at once. That is why the philosopher Bergson said: 'In man, instinct is sacrificed before understanding.'

And how many a good instinct falls victim to understanding! For a person is sometimes ashamed to show his desires, for fear that people will read what is in him. So I counsel you not to reject any

idea that is born in you, nor to leave it buried in the folds of your conscience because you think yourself incapable of bringing it forth — so that neither you nor anyone else ever feels its benefit. Rather, you must listen to the voice that calls you from your inmost depths, so as to examine your idea from all its sides and scrutinize it well, as though you had come upon a precious jewel; and afterward set it before you on the carpet of light and truth and free it from all bonds. If the good in it outweighs the trifling, do not hang back from bringing it out into existence. The surgeon examines the patient again and again, pictures the seat of the pain, and calls in a group of physicians to take their opinion before venturing upon the oper-ation — then he takes up his scalpel and sets to work.

I want to show you how an idea arises in a person. No doubt you one day felt a longing and an inclination to learn the craft of sewing, but you pushed the idea away from you for fear of becoming a seamstress. Instead of rejecting that idea, you ought to have examined it well, considered it closely, and weighed your strength and the benefit that would result from the craft of sewing; and if you saw that it would profit you even only in sewing your own clothes and those of your family, that was enough to make it a good idea — and then to pass the final judgment on yourself.

And if you feel an inclination toward writing, do not say, 'I do not know how to write, and it

is not required of me to become a writer.' Rather, study this inclination well, place it on the carpet of inquiry, take courage, and make the trial: either the inclination will grow, or it will fade away — and then no room remains afterward for you to blame yourself and feel regret. And if you feel drawn to singing, or to music, or to painting, then dare to learn the art you incline to and taste its meaning; and always scrutinize everything, for that is what helps you to know the secrets of life and its essence. Nor is it amiss for me to mention to you also that if you one day feel drawn toward something that may anger your husband, then, instead of proceeding at once to attain your desire, study what may follow from it, and what will befall you if severe regret comes after it, and what calamity will descend upon your family and your circle, and what you stand to lose of the good name that can never be replaced. And after you have paraded all these matters through your imagination, either you resist the inclination that has arisen in you and restrain yourself from pursu-ing it, or you insist on carrying out your idea — and then you will at least have entered upon the act knowingly, and afterward will blame no one but yourself.

And you tell me that you prefer to read Arabic books, by the distinguished authors, that appear in our country. That is a noble patriotic sentiment; but I am ashamed to tell you that the book is greatly neglected in our country, and that only