Praise the child, and you make love to the mother.
I soothe my conscience now with the thought that it is better for hard words to be on paper than that Mummy should carry them in her heart.
I don't think of all the misery but of the beauty that still remains.
I think it's odd that grown-ups quarrel so easily and so often and about such petty matters. Up to now I always thought bickering was just something children did and that they outgrew it.
I hid myself within myself. . . and quietly wrote down all my joys, sorrows and contempt in my diary.
I have often been downcast, but never in despair; I regard our hiding as a dangerous adventure, romantic and interesting at the same time. In my diary I treat all the privations as amusing. I have made up my mind now to lead a different life from other girls and, later on, different from ordinary housewives. My start has been so very full of interest, and that is the sole reason why I have to laugh at the humorous side of the most dangerous moments.
The young are not afraid of telling the truth.
Each time of life has its own kind of love.
there's no art but has some business to it and no business but some art.
Pain, indolence, sterility, endless ennui have also their lesson for you, if you are great.
Do I open it? Do I open it? Of course I freaking open it!