I've Reached The Point Where I Hardly

Memories Mean More To Me Than Dresses.

People Can So Easily Be Tempted By Slackness... And By Money.

It Seems To Me That Later On Neither I Nor Anyone Else Will Be Interested In The Musings Of A Thirteen-year-old Schoolgirl.

Although I'm Only Fourteen, I Know Quite Well What I Want, I Know Who Is Right And Who Is Wrong. I Have My Opinions, My Own Ideas And Principles, And Although It May Sound Pretty Mad From An Adolescent, I Feel More Of A Person Than A Child, I Feel Quite Indepedent Of Anyone.

And Finally I Twist My Heart Round Again, So That The Bad Is On The Outside And The Good Is On The Inside, And Keep On Trying To Find A Way Of Becoming What I Would So Like To Be, And Could Be, If There Weren't Any Other People Living In The World.