“I want to write, but more than that, I want to bring out all kinds of things that lie buried deep in my heart.”

People who have a religion should be glad, for not everyone has the gift of believing in heavenly things.

I’ve reached the point where I hardly care whether I live or die. The world will keep on turning without me, I can’t do anything to change events anyway.

If the truth is told, things are just as bad as you yourself care to make them.

It’s difficult in times like these: ideals, dreams and cherished hopes rise within us, only to be crushed by grim reality.

Parents can only give good advice or put them on the right paths, but the final forming of a person’s character lies in their own hands.

We all live with the objective of being happy; our lives are all different and yet the same.

Soldiers and war heroes are honored and commemorated, explorers are granted immortal fame, martyrs are revered, but how many people look upon women too as soldiers?

Boys will be boys. And even that wouldn’t matter if only we could prevent girls from being girls.

It’s really a wonder that I haven’t dropped all my ideals, because they seem so absurd and impossible to carry out. Yet I keep them, because in spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart.

I do my best to please everybody, far more than they’d ever guess. I try to laugh it all off, because I don’t want to let them see my trouble.

The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quite alone with the heavens, nature and God.

Writing in a diary is a really strange experience for someone like me.

A quiet conscience makes one strong!

Nature brings solace in all troubles.

Sometimes I’m so deeply buried under self-reproaches that I long for a word of comfort to help me dig myself out again.

Who would ever think that so much went on in the soul of a young girl?