Memories Mean More To Me Than Dresses.

One Must Apply One's Reason To Everything Here, Learning To Obey, To Shut Up, To Help, To Be Good, To Give In, And I Don't Know What Else. I'm Afraid I Shall Use Up All My Brains Too Quickly, And I Haven't Got So Very Many. Then I Shall Not Have Any Left For When The War Is Over.

Sometimes I Believe That God Wants To Try Me, Both Now And Later On; I Must Become Good Through My Own Efforts, Without Examples And Without Good Advice.

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.

No One Has Ever Become Poor By Giving.

Misfortunes Never Come Singly.