It Is Only When Our Characters And

The Diary Will Really Try And Tell People Who You Are And What You Were. The Alternative Is Writing Nothing, Or Creating A Totally Lifeless, As It Is Leafless, Garden.

There Comes A Time In Each Life Like A Point Of Fulcrum. At That Time You Must Accept Yourself. It Is Not Any More What You Will Become. It Is What You Are And Always Will Be.

I Am Infinitely Strange To Myself.

The Newspapers Are Full Of What We Would Like To Happen To Us And What We Hope Will Never Happen To Us.

People Who Teach You Cram Old Ideas, Old Views, Old Ways, Into You. Like Covering Plants With Layer After Layer Of Old Earth; It's No Wonder The Poor Things So Rarely Come Up Fresh And Green.