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Često me svladaju živci, osobito nedjeljom, osjećam se užasno jadno. Atmosfera u kući je tada posebno teška, uspavljujuća poput olova. Vani se ne čuje ni jedna ptica, posvuda lebdi teška, mrtvačka tišina. Ta tišina obavija se oko svakog djelića moga tijela kao da me želi povući duboko u podzemlje. U takvim trenutcima mama, tata i Margot ostavljaju me na miru. Lutam od jedne sobe do druge, penjem se i spuštam stepenicama. Osjećam se poput ptice pjevice kojoj su potrgali krila te u potpunom mraku letu oko rešetki svog kaveza. U meni neki glas viče: "Izađi, smij se i udahni svježi zrak!" Više ni ne odgovaram, odlazim, liježem na kauč i spavam kako bi vrijeme brže prošlo. Tišina i strašni strah jer nema drugog načina da brže prođe. Tvoja Anna, petak, 29. rujna 1943.

Think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy.

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?

The weak fall, but the strong will remain and never go under!

A voice within me is sobbing, "You see that's what's become of you. You're surrounded by negative opinions, dismayed looks and mocking faces, people who dislike you, and all because you don't listen to the advice of your own better half." Believe me, I'd like to listen, but it doesn't work, because if I'm quiet and serious, everyone thinks I'm putting on a new act and I have to save myself with a joke, and then I'm not even talking about my own family, who assume I must be sick, stuff me with aspirins and setatives, feel my neck and forehead to see if I have a temperature, ask about my bowel movements and berate me for being in a bad mood, until I just can't keep it up anymore, because when everybody starts hovering over me, I get cross, then sad, an finally end up turning my heart inside out, the bad part on the outside and the good part on the inside, and keep trying to find a way to become what I'd like to be and what I could be if . . . if only there were no other people in the world.

Yours, Anne M. Frank.