I want to be a pretty corpse.

I have now reached the happy age of 23. No, happy is not quite the right word. At this particular moment I am certainly not happy.

I am racking my brains to find out why he left without saying goodby to me.

I am so infinitely happy that he loves me so much, and I pray that it will always be like this. It won't be my fault if he ever stops loving me.

If I had a dog I would not feel so lonely, but I suppose that is asking for too much.

When he says he loves me, it only means he loves me at that particular instant. Like his promises, which he never keeps. Why does he torment me like this, when he could finish it off at once?

He has so often told me he is madly in love with me, but what does that mean when I haven't had a good word from him in three months?

God, I am afraid he won't give me his answer today. If only somebody would help me - it is all so terribly depressing.

I sat with him for three hours and we did not exchange a single word. At the end he handed me, as he had done before, an envelope with money in it. It would have been much nicer if he had enclosed a greeting or a loving word. I would have been so pleased if he had.

Today I bought two lottery tickets, because I had a feeling that it would be now or never - they were both blanks. So I am not going to be rich after all. Nothing at all to be done about it.