Let's not talk about it any more, but if you still want anything please write to me about it, because I can say what I mean much better on paper.

Then I fall asleep with a stupid feeling of wishing to be different from what I am or from what I want to be; perhaps to behave differently from the way I want to behave or do behave.

What a wonderful thought it is that some of the best days of our lives haven't even happened yet.

I must work, so as not to be a fool, to get on, to become a journalist, because that's what I want!... I can't imagine that I would have to lead the same sort of life as Mummyand all the women who do their work and are then forgotten. I must have something besides a husband and children, something that I can devote myself to!

We're not the only people that have had to suffer, there have always been people that've had to.

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.

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