When I Write I Can Shake Off

We Lit The Stove A Few Days Ago And The Entire Room Is Filled With Smoke. I Prefer Central Heating, And I'm Probably Not The Only One.

I Don't Think Of All The Misery But Of The Beauty That Still Remains.

How Lovely To Think That No One Need Wait A Moment, We Can Start Now, Start Slowly Changing The World!

The Question Is Very Understandable, But No One Has Found A Satisfactory Answer To It So Far. Yes, Why Do They Make Still More Gigantic Planes, Still Heavier Bombs And, At The Same Time, Prefabricated Houses For Reconstruction? Why Should Millions Be Spent Daily On The War And Yet There's Not A Penny Available For Medical Services, Artists, Or For Poor People? Why Do Some People Have To Starve, While There Are Surpluses Rotting In Other Parts Of The World? Oh, Why Are People So Crazy?

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.