This is especially true in the case of the housewife. Too often she is the willing slave to her family's demands, and the effort to cope with the needs of her husband and children frequently leaves her prematurely old, both in spirits and appearance.
Virginia Woolf has emphasised this point in one of her recent books, for she maintains that every woman should possess at least one room sacred to her interests and belongings. I know of one such gracious room, and it is a rare privilege to slip away and share its privacy with the owner. Here amid the quiet and harmonious atmosphere the troubles and wear and tear of life slip away, leaving one completely refreshed.
One other point occurs to me which, on consideration, seem more important that all the rest put together. There is something of the artist in every woman, and too often talents remain hidden for want of encouragement.
Years ago I had no idea of succeeding as a painter, but, given the inspiration and the quiet of my room, I painted my first picture.
The great writers and painters of this age are unanimous in agreeing that they owe their most inspired works to being alone. From my own experience I know it to be true, and it is our loss if we neglect privacy and all the opportunities for self-expression that it affords.
Privacy adds immeasurably to life, and when you can say with honesty that there is no joy like the joy of being alone, you have mastered something of the art of living.