I wonder if anyone can ever succeed in making their children content.

Whoever doesn't know it must learn and find by experience that a quiet conscience makes one strong.

One must apply one's reason to everything here, learning to obey, to shut up, to help, to be good, to give in, and I don't know what else. I'm afraid I shall use up all my brains too quickly, and I haven't got so very many. Then I shall not have any left for when the war is over.

I don't think of all the misery but of the beauty that still remains.

Sometimes I'm so deeply buried under self-reproaches that I long for a word of comfort to help me dig myself out again.

I... keep trying to find a way to become what I'd like to be and what I could be if... if only there were no other people in the world.

In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart. I simply can't build up my hopes on a foundation consisting of confusion, misery and death.