The Diary of a Young Girl

by Anne Frank

I wander from one room to another, downstairs and up again, feeling like a songbird whose wings have been clipped and who is hurling himself in utter darkness against the bars of his cage. “Go outside, laugh, and take a breath of fresh air,” a voice cries within me, but I don’t even wish to respond any more; I go and lie on the divan and sleep, to make the time pass more quickly, and the stillness and the terrible fear, because there is no way of killing them.

It's always the little things we cherish and miss the most "29th Oct. 1943"

At night, when I’m in bed, I see myself alone in a dungeon, without Mummy and Daddy. Sometimes I wander by the roadside, or our ‘Secret Annexe’ is on fire, or they come and take us away at night. I see everything as if it is actually taking, place, and this gives me the feeling that it may all happen to me very soon. Miep often says she envies us for possessing such tranquillity here. That may be true, but she is not thinking about all our fears. I simply can’t imagine that the world will ever be normal for us again. I do talk about ‘after the war,’ but then it is only a castle in the air, something that will never really happen. If I think back to our old house, my girl friends, the fun at school, it is just as if another person lived it all, not me. I see the eight of us with our “Secret Annexe” as if we were a little piece of blue heaven, surrounded by heavy black rain clouds. The round, clearly defined spot where we stand is still safe, but the clouds gather more closely about us and the circle which separates us from the approaching danger closes more and more tightly. Now we are so surrounded by danger and darkness that we bump against each other, as we search desperately for a means of escape. We all look down below, where people are fighting each other, we look above, where it is quiet and beautiful, and meanwhile we are cut off by the great dark mass, which will not let us go upwards, but which stands before us as an impenetrable wall, it tries to crush us, but ca...

What a painful and touching description, it's hard to believe that it's from a 14 year old girl "8th Nov. 1943"

I have one consolation, although a slender one: my fountain pen has been cremated, just what I want for myself later!

Oh Dear! It's really PAINFUL "11th Nov. 1943"

‘Himmelhoch jauchzend Tode betrubt’ certainly fits here. I am ‘on top of the world’ if I only think how lucky we are here compared with other Jewish children, and ‘in the depths of despair’ comes over me when, as happened today, for example, Mrs. Kleiman comes and tells us about her daughter Cony’s hockey club, canoe trips, theatrical performances, and friends. I don’t think I’m jealous of Cony, but I couldn’t help feeling a great longing to have lots of fun myself for once, and to laugh until my tummy ached. Especially at this time of the year with all the holidays for Christmas and the New Year, and we are stuck here like outcasts. Still, I really ought not to write this, because it seems ungrateful and I’ve certainly been exaggerating. But still, whatever you think of me, I can’t keep everything to myself, so I’ll remind you of my opening words, Paper is patient.

Patience, not everyone has it "24th Dec. 1943"

When someone comes in from outside, with the wind in their clothes and the cold on their faces, I could bury my head in the blankets to stop myself thinking: “When will we be granted the privilege of smelling fresh air?” And because I must not bury my head in the blankets, but the reverse—I must keep my head high and be brave, the thoughts will come, not once, but oh, countless times. Believe me, if you have been shut up for a year and a half, it can get too much for you some days. In spite of all justice and thankfulness, you can’t crush your feelings. Cycling, dancing, whistling, looking out into the world, feeling young, to know that I’m free—that’s what I long for, still, I mustn’t show it, because I sometimes think if all eight of us began to pity ourselves, or went about with discontented faces, where would it lead us? I sometimes ask myself, “Would anyone, either Jew or non-Jew, understand this about me, that I am simply a young girl badly in need of some rollicking fun?” I don’t know, and I couldn’t talk about it to anyone, because then I know I should cry. Crying can bring such relief.

Her only dream was a normal life, that's all. Nothing extra-ordinary, As I said just the little things "24th Dec. 1943"

Miep has made a lovely Christmas cake, on which was written ‘Peace 1944.’

The one they never had "27th Dec. 1943"

I myself keep very quiet and don’t take any notice of all the fuss and excitement. I have now reached the stage that I don’t care much whether I live or die. The world will still keep on turning without me; what is going to happen, will happen, and anyway it’s no good trying to resist. I trust luck and do nothing but work, hoping that all will end well.

Confinement can do strange things unless you have HOPE "3rd Feb. 1944"

What is the good of thinking of misery when one is already miserable oneself?

Sometimes courage can be found in the most unlikely places "2nd Mar. 1944"

People can tell you to keep your mouth shut, but it doesn’t stop you having your own opinion. Even if people are still very young, they shouldn’t be prevented from saying what they think.

Can't deny that "2nd Mar. 1944"

He who has courage and faith will never perish in misery!

Courage and Faith, two most likely companion of Bravery "7th Mar. 1944"

I want to get on, I can’t imagine that I would have to lead the same sort of life as Mummy and Mrs. van Daan and all the women who do their work and are then forgotten. I must have something besides a husband and children, something that I can devote myself to! I want to go on living even after my death! And therefore I am grateful to God for giving me this gift, this possibility of developing myself and of writing, of expressing all that is in me. I can shake off everything if I write, my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn. But, and that is the great question, will I ever be able to write anything great, will I ever become a journalist or a writer? I hope so, oh, I hope so very much, for I can recapture everything when I write, my thoughts, my ideals and my fantasies.

"I want to go on living even after my death" and she did. Only if she knew "5th April 1944"

We have been pointedly reminded that we are in hiding, that we are Jews in chains, chained to one spot, without any rights, but with a thousand duties. We Jews mustn’t show our feelings, must be brave and strong, must accept all inconveniences and not grumble, must do what is within our power and trust in God. Sometime this terrible war will be over. Surely the time will come when we are people again, and not just Jews. Who has inflicted this upon us? Who has made us Jews different from all other people? Who has allowed us to suffer so terribly up till now? It is God that has made us as we are, but it will be God, too, who will raise us up again. If we bear all this suffering and if there are still Jews left, when it is over, then Jews, instead of being doomed, will be held up as an example.

As you can easily imagine we often ask ourselves here despairingly: “What, oh, what is the use of the war? Why can’t people live peacefully together? Why all this destruction?” 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? I don’t believe that the big men, the politicians and the capitalists alone, are guilty of the war. Oh no, the little man is just as guilty, otherwise the peoples of the world would have risen in revolt long ago! There’s in people simply an urge to destroy, an urge to kill, to murder and rage, and until all mankind, without exception, undergoes a great change, wars will be waged, everything that has been built up, cultivated, and grown will be destroyed and disfigured, after which mankind will have to begin all over again.

A bitter truth "3rd May 1944"

we gathered round her, as if we’d never heard about delicious food or smart people in our lives before! And these are the granddaughters of a millionaire. The world is a queer place!

The world is a queer place! Indeed "8th May 1944"

We all live, but we don’t know the why or the wherefore. We all live with the object of being happy, our lives are all different and yet the same.

And she wrote this when she was 15, Deep "6th July 1944"

Do you gather a bit of what I mean, or have I been skipping too much from one subject to another? I can’t help it; the prospect that I may be sitting on school benches next October makes me feel far too cheerful to be logical! Oh, dearie me, hadn’t I just told you that I didn’t want to be too hopeful? Forgive me, they haven’t given me the name ‘little bundle of contradictions’ all for nothing!

A dream which never came true, the second last piece of writing by Anne before they were caught "21st July 1944"