Who Else But Me Is Ever Going

Memories Mean More To Me Than Dresses.

Outside, You Don't Hear A Single Bird, And A Deathly, Oppressive Silence Hangs Over The House And Clings To Me As If It Were Going To Drag Me Into The Deepest Regions Of The Underworld.... I Wander From Room To Room, Climb Up And Down The Stairs And Feel Like A Songbird Whose Wings Have Been Ripped Off And Who Keeps Hurling Itself Against The Bars Of Its Dark Cage.

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.

The Best Remedy For Those Who Are Afraid, Lonely Or Unhappy Is To Go Outside, Somewhere Where They Can Be Quiet, Alone With The Heavens, Nature And God. Because Only Then Does One Feel That All Is As It Should Be.

Those Who Have Courage And Faith Shall Never Perish In Misery