I am in the world to change the world.

No longer diverted by other emotions, I work the way a cow grazes.

Recently I began reading my old diaries. Back to before the war. Gradually I became very depressed. The reason for that is probably that I wrote only when there were obstacles and halts to the flow of life, seldom when everything was smooth and even. ... As I read I distinctly felt what a half-truth a diary presents.

Growing old is partly an inescapable process of accommodation and adjustment.

I am afraid of dying-but being dead, oh yes, that to me is often an appealing prospect.

Where do all the women who have watched so carefully over the lives of their beloved ones get the heroism to send them to face the cannon?

Pacifism simply is not a matter of calm looking on; it is work, hard work.