The Diary of a Young Girl

by Anne Frank

Tales and Legends of the Netherlands by Joseph Cohen, Daisy’s Mountain Holiday (a terrific book), and some money. Now I can buy The Myths of Greece and Rome- grand!

one day I managed, without blushing or flickering an eyelid to get that idea right out of her mind.

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.

“paper is more patient than man”; it came back to me on one of my slightly melancholy days,

I can never bring myself to talk of anything outside the common round.

want this diary itself to be my friend, and I shall call my friend Kitty.

They don’t care a bit whether my reports are good or bad as long as I’m well and happy, and not too cheeky, then the rest will come by itself.

But I’m not sorry, memories mean more to me than dresses.

attic. Our plates are ungettatable at as long as we are here,

Yesterday I finished The Assault. Its quite amusing, but doesn’t touch Joop ter Heul As a matter of fact, I think Cissy van Marxveldt is a firstrate writer. I shall definitely let my children read her books.

right, but I think so. Really,

Also it says that Eva has a monthly period. Oh, I’m so longing to have it too, it seems so important.

“If we can save someone, then everything else is of secondary importance,” says Daddy, and he’s absolutely right.

Must I keep thinking about those other people, whatever I am doing? And if I want to laugh about something, should I stop myself quickly and feel ashamed that I am cheerful? Ought I then to cry the whole day long? No, that I can’t do. Besides, in time this gloom will wear off.

When I lie in bed at night and think over the many sins and shortcomings attributed to me, I get so confused by it all that I either laugh or cry: it depends what sort of mood I am in.

I talk, everyone thinks I’m showing off; when I’m silent they think I’m ridiculous; rude if I answer, sly if I get a good idea, lazy if I’m tired, selfish if I eat a mouthful more than I should, stupid, cowardly, crafty, etc., etc.

felt. I can only feel sorry for Mummy, who has now had to discover that I have adopted her own attitude.

Reading, learning, and the radio are our amusements.