Maurice SACHS. L.A.S., Paris March 22, 1940, to André Gide in Nice; 2pages in-4, envelope. Pathetic letter. He is unhappy: "I have perhaps never been as certain as I am today that this very unhappiness is useless. Useless to others and to myself. I don't grow from it. I complain, I grieve. [...] I'm not much, and I suffer for it. I have many flaws that torture me and a few qualities that I don't know what to do with. I write nicely, but nothing that really sticks. And I have too much respect for writing to ever want to be a bad writer. [...] I don't really know why I live anymore. Habit, no doubt. I'd like to kill myself, but the details scare me. [...] Practically speaking, I'm afraid of Paris. Paris is hostile"... He doesn't want to become a journalist: "I've already written enough bad books without having to write bad articles"... Could Gide help him find a position in the colonies?...