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back into bed。 it was over！
and now its really over。 i finally realized that i must do my schoolwork to keep from being ignorant； to get on in life； to bee a journalist； because thats what i want！ i know i can write。 a few of my stories are good； my descriptions of the secret annex are humorous； much of my diary is vivid and alive； but。 。 。 it remains to be seen whether i really have talent。
〃evas dream〃 is my best fairy tale； and the odd thing is that i dont have the faintest idea where it came from。 parts of 〃cadys life〃 are also good； but as a whole its nothing special。 im my best and harshest critic。 i know whats good and what isnt。
unless you write yourself； you cant know how wonderful it is； i always used to bemoan the fact that i couldnt draw； but now im overjoyed that at least i can write。
and if i dont have the talent to write books or newspaper articles； i can always write for myself。 but i want to achieve more than that。 i cant imagine having to live like mother； mrs。 van daan and all the women who go about their work and are then forgotten。 i need to have something besides a husband and children to devote myself to！ i dont want to have lived in vain like most people。 i want to be useful or bring enjoyment to all people； even those ive never met。 i want to go on living even after my death！ and thats why im so grateful to god for having given me this gift； which i can use to develop myself and to express all thats inside me！
when i write i can shake off all my cares。 my sor… row disappears； my spirits are
revived！ but； and thats a big question； will i ever be able to write something great； will i ever bee a journalist or a writer？
i hope so； oh； i hope so very much； because writing allows me to record everything； all my thoughts； ideals and fantasies。
i havent worked on 〃cadys life〃 for ages。 in my mind ive worked out exactly what happens next； but the story doesnt seem to be ing along very well。 i might never finish it； and itll wind up in the wastepaper basket or the stove。 thats a horrible thought； but then i say to myself； 〃at the age of fourteen and with so little experience； you cant write about philosophy。鈥�
so onward and upward； with renewed spirits。 itll all work out； because im determined to write！
yours； anne
m。 frank
thursday； april 6； 1944
dearest kitty；
you asked me what my hobbies and interests are and id like to answer； but id better warn you； i have lots of them； so dont be surprised。
first of all： writing； but i dont really think of that as a hobby。
number two： genealogical charts。 im looking in every newspaper； book and document i can find for the family trees of the french； german； spanish； english； austrian； russian； norwegian and dutch royal famthes。 ive made great progress with many of them； because for ！ a long time ive been taking notes while reading biogra… i； phies or history books。 i even copy out many of the passages on history。
so my third hobby is history； and fathers already bought me numerous books。 i can hardly wait for the day when ill be able to go to the public library and ferret out iii the information i need。
number four is greek and roman mythology。 i have various books on this subject too。
i can name the nine muses and the seven loves of zeus。 i have the wives of hercules； etc。； etc。； down pat。
my other hobbies are movie stars and family photographs。 im crazy about reading and
books。 i adore the history of the arts； especially when it concerns writers； poets and painters； musicians may e later。 i loathe algebra； geometry and arithmetic。 i enjoy all my other school subjects； but historys my favorite！
yours； anne
m。 frank
tuesday； april 11； 1944
my dearest kitty；
my heads in a whirl； i really dont know where to begin。 thursday （the last time i wrote you） everything was as usual。 friday afternoon （good friday） we played monopoly； saturday afternoon too。 the days passed very quickly。 around two oclock on saturday； heavy firing ii began…machine guns； according to the men。 for the rest； everything was quiet。
sunday afternoon peter came to see me at four…thirty； at my invitation。 at five…fifteen we went to the ii front attic； where we stayed until six。 there was a beautil ful mozart concert on the radio from six to seven…fifteen； i especially enjoyed the kleine nachtmusik。 i can hardly bear to listen in the kitchen； since beautiful music stirs me to the very depths of my soul。 sunday evening peter couldnt take his balli； because the washtub was down in the office kitchen； filled with laundry。 the two of us went to the front attic together； and in order to be able to sit fortably； i took along the only cushion i could find in my room。 we seated ourselves on a packing crate。 since both the crate and the cushion were very narrow； we were sitting quite close； leaning against two other crates； mouschi kept us pany； so we werent without a chaperon。 suddenly； at a quarter to nine； mr。 van daan whistled and asked if we had mr。 dussels cushion。 we jumped up and went downstairs willi the cushion； the cat and mr。 van daan。 this cushion was the source of much misery。 dussel was angry because id taken the one he uses as a pillow； and he was afraid it might be covered with fleas； he had the entire house in an uproar because of this one cushion。 in revenge； peter and i stuck two hard brushes in his bed； but had to take them out again when dussel unexpectedly decided to go sit in his room。 we had a really good laugh at this little intermezzo。
but our fun was short…lived。 at nine…thirty peter knocked gently on the door and asked father to e upstairs and help him with a difficult english sentence。
〃that sounds fishy；〃 i said to margot。 〃its obviously a pretext。 you can tell by the way the men are talking that theres been a break…in！〃 i was right。 the warehouse was being broken into at that very moment。 father； mr。 van daan and peter were
downstairs in a flash。 margot； mother； mrs。 van d。 and i waited。 four frightened women need to talk； so thats what we did until we heard a bang downstairs。 after that all was quiet。 the clock struck quarter to ten。 the color had drained from our faces； but we remained calm； even though we were afraid。 where were the men？ what was that bang？ were they fighting with the burglars？ we were too scared to think； all we could do was wait。
ten oclock； footsteps on the stairs。 father； pale and nervous； came inside； followed by mr。 van daan。 〃lights out； tiptoe upstairs； were expecting the police！〃 there wasnt time to be scared。 the lights were switched off； i grabbed a jacket； and we sat down upstairs。
〃what happened？ tell us quickly！鈥�
there was no one to tell us； the men had gone back downstairs。 the four of them didnt e back up until ten past ten。 two of them kept watch at peters open window。 the door to the landing was locked； the book… case shut。 we draped a sweater over our night…light； and then they told us what had happened：
peter was on the landing when he heard two loud bangs。 he went downstairs and saw that a large panel was missing from the left half of the warehouse door。 he dashed upstairs； alerted the 〃home guard；〃 and the four of them went downstairs。 when the