It's really a wonder that I haven't dropped all my ideals, because they seem so absurd and impossible to carry out. Yet I keep them, because in spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart.

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.

Bolkenstein, a Minister, was speaking on the Dutch programme from London, and he said that they ought to make a collection of diaries and letters after the war. Of course, they all made a rush at my diary immediately. Just imagine how interesting it would be if I were to publish a romance of the "Secret Annexe." The title alone would be enough to make people think it was a detective story.

I don't dare do anything anymore, 'cause I'm afraid it's not allowed.

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

The weak fall, but the strong will remain and never go under!

As long as this exists, this sunshine and this cloudless sky, and as long as I can enjoy it, how can I be sad?