When I write I can shake off all my cares. My sorrow disappears, my spirits are revived.

I have always been the dunce, the never-do-well of the family, I've always have to pay double for my deeds, first with the scolding and then again because of the way my feelings are hurt.

I know what I want, I have a goal, an opinion, I have a religion and love. Let me be myself and then I am satisfied. I know that I’m a woman, a woman with inward strength and plenty of courage.

He clings to his solitude, to his affected indifference and his grown-up ways, but it's just an act, so as never, never to show his real feelings.

Who knows, perhaps he doesn't care about me at all and look at the others in just the same way.

I love you, with a love so great that it simply couldn't keep growing inside my heart, but had to leap out and reveal itself in all its magnitude.

I simply can't build my hopes on a foundation of confusion, misery and death... I think... peace and tranquillity will return again.