Maybe because it’s the spring over there, but all of a sudden I’m longing for Berlin. Here, in the everlasting summer, I really miss that. I think back to late afternoons in a car with the top down (down for the first time that season), heading along the Kurfürstendamm, and, for no apparent reason, a chuckle in my throat. Perhaps it was because we were young and at home. I am fighting so hard against feeling dead here and against feeling dead in general, against the hollow feeling inside. I keep giving, and I get nothing in return. The child is all grown up now.
— Marlene Dietrich, letter to a friend, Hollywood, April 1934