I've reached the point where I hardly care whether I live or die. The world will keep on turning without me, I can't do anything to change events anyway.

Go outsideamidst the simple beauty of natureand know that as long as places like this exist, there will be comfort for every sorrow, whatever the circumstances may be.

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

Writing in a diary is a really strange experience for someone like me. Not only because I’ve never written anything before, but also because it seems to me that later on neither I nor anyone else will be interested in the musings of a thirteen-year old school girl. Oh well, it doesn’t matter. I feel like writing.

I believe in the sun, even when it rains.

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

Yes, there is no doubt that paper is patient and as I don't intend to show this cardboard-covered notebook, bearing the proud name of "diary," to anyone, unless I find a real friend, boy or girl, probably nobody cares. And now I come to the root of the matter, the reason for my starting a diary: it is that I have no such real friend.