It won't take long before I explode with pent-up rage.

I had to hold my head up high and put a bold face on things, but the thoughts keep coming anyways.

I hid myself within myself ... and quietly wrote down all my joys, sorrows and contempt in my diary.

I simply can't imagine the world will ever be normal again for us. I do talk about "after the war," but it's as if I'm talking about a castle in the air, something that can never come true.

Deep down I know I could never be that innocent again, however much I'd like to be.

I'm currently in the middle of a depression. I couldn't really tell you what set it off, but I think it stems from my cowardice, which confronts me at every turn.

I am what a romantic movie is to a profound thinker - a mere diversion, a comic interlude, something that is soon forgotten.