I'm sentimental--I know. I'm desperate and silly--I know that too. Oh, help me!
It must be awful to feel you're not needed.
I simply can't imagine the world will ever be normal again for us. I do talk about "after the war," but it's as if I'm talking about a castle in the air, something that can never come true.
I can't let them see my doubts, or the wounds they've inflicted on me.
It won't take long before I explode with pent-up rage.
Sometimes I'm so deeply buried under self-reproaches that I long for a word of comfort to help me dig myself out again.
I believe that in the course of the next century the notion that it's a woman's duty to have children will change and make way for the respect and admiration of all women, who bear their burdens without complaint or a lot of pompous words!
leave me in peace, let me sleep one night at least without my pillow being wet with tears, my eyes burning and my head throbbing
I don't dare do anything anymore, 'cause I'm afraid it's not allowed.
by thinking, nobody can ever get worse but will only get better.
I wonder if anyone can ever succeed in making their children content.
I had to hold my head up high and put a bold face on things, but the thoughts keep coming anyways.
One gets on better in life if one is not over modest.
Who else but me is ever going to read these letters?
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.
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