If The Truth Is Told, Things Are

No One Ever Became Poor From Giving.

But I Won't Bore You Any Longer On The Subject Of Old Men. It Won't Make Things Any Better And All My Plans Of Revenge (such As Disconnecting The Lamp, Shutting The Door, Hiding His Clothes) Must Be Abandoned In Order To Keep The Peace. Oh, I'm Becoming So Sensible!

I Haven't Written For A Few Days, Because I Wanted First Of All To Think About My Diary. It's An Odd Idea For Someone Like Me To Keep A Diary; Not Only Because I Have Never Done So Before, But Because It Seems To Me That Neither I-nor For That Matter Anyone Else-will Be Interested In The Unbosomings Of A Thirteen -year -old Schoolgirl. Still, What Does That Matter? I Want To Write, But More Than That, I Want To Bring Out All Kinds Of Things That Lie Buried Deep In My Heart.

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.

What A Wonderful Thought It Is That Some Of The Best Days Of Our Lives Haven't Even Happened Yet.