February 18. Whenever I go upstairs now I keep on hoping that I shall see "him". Because my life now has an object, and I have something to look forward to, everything has become more pleasant. At least the object of my feelings is always there... Don't think I'm in love, because I'm not, but I do have the feeling all the time that something fine can grow up between us, something that gives confidence and friendship. If I get half a chance, I go up to him now. It's not like it used to be when he didn't know how to begin...
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July 15. ... 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 simply can't build up my hopes on a foundation consisting of confusion, misery, and death. I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness, I hear ever approaching the thunder, which will destroy us too, I can feel the sufferings of millions and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come to right, that this cruelty too will end...
[A few days after this entry, the Nazis raided the "Secret Annexe" and Anne, Peter and all the other occupants, were taken to concentration camps. Anne's father alone survived. In March 1945, three months before her sixteenth birthday and two months before the liberation of Holland, Anne died in the concentration camp at Bergen-Belsen.]
"In Youth is the Beginning" section, Anne Frank.
پینوشت. یکی از عجیبترین کتابهایی بود که خوندهم.
Thoroughly engrossing! What a treat this finds was. I really learned so much from these personal accounts of living history and intend to locate full versions of as many of these journals as I can.