He Clings To His Solitude,

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.

Boys Will Be Boys. And Even That Wouldn't Matter If Only We Could Prevent Girls From Being Girls.

I've Found That There Is Always Some Beauty Left -- In Nature, Sunshine, Freedom, In Yourself; These Can All Help You.

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.

I'm Sentimental--i Know. I'm Desperate And Silly--i Know That Too. Oh, Help Me!