Anne Frank's "Diary of a Young Girl" Part 1 173 words

Because we're Jewish, my father immigrated to Holland in 1933, when he became the Managing Director of the Dutch Opekta Company, which manufactures products used in making jam.

I'm so used to it that I've become completely indifferent to Mother's rebukes and Margot's moodiness.

It won't be easy to wangle new ones.

Peter, not in the least fazed by his father's swift action, began thinking up ways to read the rest of this vastly interesting book.

Instead of a chamber pot, Mr. van D. was lugging a collapsible tea table under his arm.

Margot is thinking about taking a course in calligraphy; I've advised her to go ahead and do it.

Ilse Wagner is a nice girl with a cheerful disposition, but she's extremely fInicky and can spend hours moaning and groaning about something.

Even though I knew Mrs. Frank had left it on purpose, I pretended to be surprised and horrified and begged Mr. Goldschmidt to burn this incriminating piece of paper.

If you were to hear their bungled attempts, you'd laugh your head off.

If you only knew, Kitty, how I seethe when they scold and mock me.

That's the latest punishment for saboteurs.

He's an absolute hypochondriac!

I wish I could ask God to give me another personality, one that doesn't antagonize everyone.

Another reason I welcome the change is that Mama's always carping at me, especially at the table.

I was suffocating even before we left the house, but no one bothered to ask me how I felt.

He's partic ularly infuriating on Sundays, when he switches on the light at the crack of dawn to exercise for ten minutes.

I've read The Zaniest Summer four times, and the ludicrous situations still make me laugh.

On the day of our arrival, Father and I improvised a chamber pot, sacrificing a canning jar for this purpose.

Lies, who's all thumbs, gets lost in the mayhem.

He's an obnoxious, two-faced, lying, sniveling little goof who has an awfully high opinion of himself.

Margot's being exasperating again.

He gets more exasperating and egotistical as the days go by.

Everyone who came into the room burst into laughter when they saw the dangling sausages.It was such a comical sight.

As soon as a boy asks if he can bicycle home with me and we get to talking, nine times out of ten I can be sure he'll become enamored on the spot and won't letme out of his sight for a second.

As soon as a boy asks if he can bicycle home with me and we get to talking, nine times out of ten I can be sure he'll become enamored on the spot and won't letme out of his sight for a second.

(I should explain that they're real gluttons up on the top floor.)

They chose the province of Zealand because it's close to Belgium (a letter can easily be smuggled across the border) and because no one is allowed to travel there without a special permit.

I don't call this a proper upbringing.

Especially when we handed him the followingtypewritten rules and regulations for the Secret Annex (a van Daan production): PROSPECTUS AND GUIDE TO THE SECRET ANNEX A Unique Facility for the Temporary Accommodation of Jews and Other Dispossessed Per

In the begin ning Mr. Dussel took our soon-forgotten clashes very seriously, but now he's grown used to them and no longer tries to mediate.Margot and Peter aren't exactly what you'd call "young"; they're both so quiet and boring.

Yours, Anne WEDNESDAY, JUNE 24, 1942 Dearest Kitty, It's sweltering.

The next in line invariably calls me back to remove the gracefully curved but unsightly hairs that I've left in the sink.

After rounding off his limbering-up exercises with a few vigorous arm swings, His Lordship begins dressing.

Not to that paragon of virtue!

But what's worse, in our opinion, is that he's so stingy with respect to Mr. Kleiman, Mr. Voskuijl and Bep. He doesn't give them a thing.

But it doesn't work, and the worst part is that Father and Mother don't realize their own inadequacies and how much I blame them for letting me down.

If it gets so bad that they start rambling on about "asking Father's permission," I swerve slightly on my bike, my schoolbag falls, and the young man feels obliged to get off his bike and hand me the bag, by which time I've switched the conversatio

He's known to be quiet and refined, and he seemed, from our superficial acquaintance with him, to be nice.

This is always how her tirades begin and end: "If Anne were my daughter.

So much comes into my head at night when I'm alone, or during the day when I'm obliged to put up with people I can't abide or who invariably misinterpret my intentions.

He looked in Mrs. van D.'s mouth and found two teeth that made her wince with pain and utter incoherent cries every time he touched them.

DIARY OF A YOUNG GIRL 53 1 small pillow @ 1.00 = 1.00 1 pair of lightweight slippers @ 1.00 = 1.00 1 pair of warm slippers @ 1.50 = 1.50 1 pair of summer shoes (school) @ 1.50 = 1.50 1 pair of summer shoes (dressy) @ 2.00 = 2.00 1 pair of winter sh

I went straightaway and found a very distraught Mr. Goldschmidt.

Anyone who's so petty and pedantic at the age of fifty-four was born that way and is never going to change.

This time it was supposed to be on "An Incorrigible Chatterbox."

A little while later Margot appeared in the kitchen doorway looking very agitated.

Other books are optional.Calisthenics:

Am I really as bad-mannered, headstrong, stubborn, pushy, stupid, lazy, etc., etc., as the van Daans say I am?

She flailed her arms and legs until Dussel finally let go of his probe and it . . . remained stuck in Mrs. van D.'s tooth.

We've been told of children searching forlornly in the smoldering ruins for their dead parents.

In the opinion of us all, this revered gentleman has great insight into politics.

If you ask me, there are so many dummies that about a quarter of the class should be kept back, but teachers are the most unpredictable creatures on earth.

I'm babbling.

Mrs. van Daan wanted to save a piece of bread for her darling son, but Mr. van D. was adamant.

Downstairs in the office as well as upstairs in the Annex, there was great hilarity.

The gist of his reply was: "I have to study too, you know, and if I can't do that in the afternoons, I won't be able to fit it in at all.

One good piece of news is that the Labor Exchange was set on fire in an act of sabotage.

The lamp was switched off, and he gingerly poked his head out from under the covers.

I've learned two new words: "brothel" and "coquette."

Now each time the phone rings, Bep says' 'That's Mrs. Dreher!" and Miep has to laugh, so that the people on the other end of the line are greeted with an impolite giggle.

But we bombarded Mr. Dussel with questions, and the stories he had to tell were so gruesome and dreadful that we can't get them out of our heads.

Pim is a big optimist, but he always has his reasons.

After passing through an alcove containing a safe, a wardrobe and a big supply cupboard, you come to the small, dark, stuffy back office.

This immediately piqued Peter's curiosity.

Now Margot will have to bear the brunt of it.

DIARY OF A YOUNG GIRL 53 1 small pillow @ 1.00 = 1.00 1 pair of lightweight slippers @ 1.00 = 1.00 1 pair of warm slippers @ 1.50 = 1.50 1 pair of summer shoes (school) @ 1.50 = 1.50 1 pair of summer shoes (dressy) @ 2.00 = 2.00 1 pair of winter shoes (sc

We were somewhat reassured by the fact that between eight-fifteen -- when the burglar had first entered the building and put our lives in jeopardy, and ten-thirty, we hadn't heard a sound.

For the next fifteen minutes, at least, the house is filled with the creaking of beds and the sigh of broken springs, and then, provided our upstairs neighbors aren't having a marital spat in bed, all is quiet.

That means I'll probably be getting a thorough checkup soon.Dussel is terribly lax when it comes to obeying the rules of the house.

The newspaper vendor in Dam Square was shouting "Turkey on England's side!" and the papers were being snatched out of his hands.

We agreed not to run any water or flush the toilet; but since everyone's stomach was churning from all the tension, you can imagine the stench after we'd each had a turn in the bathroom.

Peter went to the attic with a flashlight and -- scurry, scurry -- what do you think he saw running away?

This way Mr. Broks can read the letter without suspecting a ruse.

If I take a small helping of a vegetable I loathe and eat potatoes instead, the van Daans, especially Mrs. van Daan, can't get over how spoiled I am.

They gave me a beautiful book, Dutch Sasas and Lesends, but they gave me Volume II by mistake, so I exchanged two other books for Volume I. Aunt Helene brought me a puzzle, Aunt Stephanie a darling brooch and Aunt Leny a terrific book: Daisy Goes t

What's a clandestine radio when there are already clandestine Jews and clandestine money?

His cough subsided immediately.

To give you one small example, Mrs. van D. has removed all but three of her sheets from our communal linen closet.

We're so selfish that we talk about "after the war" and look forward to new clothes and shoes, when actually we should be saving every penny to help others when the war is over, to salvage whatever we can.

I simply let the words bounce right off me!

I should be used to the fact that these squabbles are daily occurrences, but I'm not and never will be as long as I'm the subject of nearly every discussion.

Anne Frank SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 7, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Mother's nerves are very much on edge, and that doesn't bode well for me.

Up to now I always thought bickering was just something children did and that they outgrew it.

Add to that, vanity and coquettishness and there's no question about it: she's a thoroughly despicable person.

I was petrified at first, and then glad.

Mrs. van D. swears she won't go downstairs; one more whiff of pepper and she's going to get sick.

Unfortunately, or not, as the case may be, this vice seems to be rampant at our school.

All day long we unpacked boxes, filled cupboards, hammered nails and straightened up the mess, until we fell exhausted into our clean beds at night.

But I mustn't waste any more of your time griping about disgusting old men.

Upstairs it sounds like thunder, but it's only Mrs. van D.'s bed being shoved against the window so that Her Majesty, arrayed in her pink bed jacket, can sniff the night air through her delicate little nostrils.

He looked in Mrs. van D.'s mouth and found two teeth that made her wince with pain and utter incoherent cries every time he touched them.

I'll tell you how we handled this problem; you may find it unseemly of me to bring it up, but I'm not so prudish about matters of this kind.

Am I really as bad-mannered, headstrong, stubborn, pushy, stupid, lazy, etc., etc., as the van Daans say I am?

I thought of this saying on one of those days when I was feeling a little depressed and was sitting at home with my chin in my hands, bored and listless, wondering whether to stay in or go out.

Maybe he's just confused by the sudden change and he'll get over it.

In bed at night, as I ponder my many sins and exaggerated shortcomings, I get so confused by the sheer amount of things I have to consider that I either laugh or cry, depending on my mood.

It's very busy upstairs, and Mother has informed me that I'm not to do any studying or reading until all the household chores have been finished.

Oh, may these somber words not come true for as long as possible.

Anne MONDAY, DECEMBER 7, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Hanukkah and St. Nicholas Day nearly coincided this year; they were only one day apart.

Yours, Anne THURSDAY, APRIL 1, 1943 Dearest Kitty, I'm not really in the mood for pranks (see the date).

"Anne Frank, as punishment for talking in class, write an essay entitled 'Quack, Quack, Quack,' said Mistress Chatterback.'"

Not me, I liked it from the start; it sounds so reassuring, especially at night.

Mrs. van D. and Dussel continued their harangue: "You know way too much about things you're not supposed to.

Since we five Ping-Pong players like ice cream, especially in the summer, and since you get hot playing Ping-Pong, our games usually end with a visit to the nearest ice-cream parlor that allows Jews: either Oasis or Delphi.

"Two frostbitten feet and a fracture of the left arm."

If it gets so bad that they start rambling on about "asking Father's permission," I swerve slightly on my bike, my schoolbag falls, and the young man feels obliged to get off his bike and hand me the bag, by which time I've switched the conversatio

"No." Just plain "No!" I was incensed and wasn't about to let myself be put off like that.

She's usually shy -- outspoken at horne, but reserved around other people.

To enhance the image of this long-awaited friend in my imagination, I don't want to jot down the facts in this diary the way most people would do, but I want the diary to be my friend, and I'm going to call this friend Kitty.

He's an obnoxious, two-faced, lying, sniveling little goof who has an awfully high opinion of himself.

Mr. Kleiman sprinkled yellow powder in every nook and cranny, but the fleas haven't taken the slightest notice.

For the next fifteen minutes, at least, the house is filled with the creaking of beds and the sigh of broken springs, and then, provided our upstairs neighbors aren't having a marital spat in bed, all is quiet.

I couldn't bear their sympathy or their good-humored derision.

Mrs. van Daan is always sating the most ridiculous things, and her Putti is oftenexasperated.

Groggy with sleep, he stumbled off to bed.

I've already asked Father to compensate him for the damages, especially since Dussel only gets one bar of inferior wartime soap a month.

I'd be mortified in front of a man like that.

I hear him shuffiing back and forth for ten whole minutes, the rustle of paper (from the food he's tucking away in his cupboard) and the bed being made up.

Have some more," she insists, until Father intervenes and upholds my right to refuse a dish I don't like.Then

OCTOBER 9, 1942 Dearest Kitty, Today I have nothing but dismal and depressing news to report.

This family saga is extremely well written, but the parts dealing with war, writers and the emancipation of women aren't very good.

At least she's learned not to respond to your interminable sermons.

Because of Margot's call-up notice, the plan had to be moved up ten days, which meant we'd have to make do with less orderly rooms.The hiding place was located in Father's office building.

I can imagine Mother dying someday, but Daddy's death seems inconceivable.

Expectation and hope generate tension, as does fear -- for example, when we hear a noise inside or outside the house, when the guns go off or when we read new "proclamations" in the paper, since we're afraid our helpers might be forced to go into h

He's an obnoxious boy who lies around on his bed all day, only rousing himself to do a little carpentry work before returning to his nap.

I have my own ideas, plans and ideals, but am unable to articulate them yet.

It still makes me shiver to think of the dull, distant drone that signified the approaching destruction.

Of course, I often forget my role and find it impossible to curb my anger when they're unfair, so that they spend the next month saying the most impertinent girl in the world.

He went on and on until there was such a deluge of words I could hardly keep up.

It gave me such a funny feeling, as if I'd denounced them to the authorities and was now spying on their misfortune.

Everyone thinks I'm showing off when I talk, ridicu lous when I'm silent, insolent when I answer, cunning when I have a good idea, lazy when I'm tired, selfish when I eat one bite more than I should, stupid, cowardly, calculating, etc., etc.

We'd hung the sacks of beans on hooks in the hallway, just inside our secret entrance, but a few seams split under the weight.

A veritable thunderstorm of words came crashing down on me again this morning.

FRIDAY, AUGUST 14, 1942 Dear Kitty, I've deserted you for an entire month, but so little has happened that I can't find anewsworthy item to relate every single day.

Yesterday I discovered a new pastime: using a good pair of binoculars to peek into the lighted rooms of the neighbors.

We continued eating, chatting merrily away, when suddenly we heard a piercing whistle.

We did have fuses, but the fuse box was at the rear of the dark warehouse, which made this a particularly unpleasant job at night.

Sallie Springer has a filthy mind, and rumor has it that he's gone all the way.

Mealtimes: Breakfast: At 9 A.M. daily except holidays and Sundays; at approximately 11:30 A.M. on Sundays and holidays.

Yesterday I began by translating a chapter from La Belle Nivemaise and writing down vocabulary words.

The door to the right of the landing leads to the "Secret Annex" at the back ofthe house.

I'm so used to it that I've become completely indifferent to Mother's rebukes and Margot's moodiness.

Without them I wouldn't be able to jump back into the fray with my usual composure.

After the babies arrived, the mothers were pretty weak from all that squatting.

If I didn't look out for myself here, no one else would, and I'd soon starve, but that doesn't mean I'm not as modest and retiring as your husband."

And a letter from Grammy, right on time, but of course that was just a coincidence.

The lamp was switched off, and he gingerly poked his head out from under the covers.

If it gets so bad that they start rambling on about "asking Father's permission," I swerve slightly on my bike, my schoolbag falls, and the young man feels obliged to get off his bike and hand me the bag, by which time I've switched the conversatio

Next door is a spacious kitchen with a hot-water heater and two gas burners, and beside that a bathroom.

Then we discussed my ignorance of philosophy, psychology and physiology (I immediately looked up these big words in the dictionary!).

Mrs. van Daan, who always contradicts everyone, including Churchill and the news reports, is in complete agreement with Mr. Beaverbrook.

All of a sudden Mrs. van Daan, who feels the need to bring herself into every conversation, remarked, "I'm very modest and retiring too, much more so than my husband!"

His ardor eventually cools, especially since I ignore his passionate glances and pedal blithely on my way.

After three days of sullen looks and stubborn silence, everything was back to normal.

Well anyway, it was a nice idea, and since the eight of us had never celebrated St. Nicholas Day before, this was a good time to begin.

Bep and Miep went grocery shopping with our ration coupons, Father worked on our blackout screens, we scrubbed the kitchen floor, and were once again busy from sunup to sundown.

The only mode of transportation left to us is the ferry.

That, of course, is a fairly dismal prospect.

His underwear is hanging on a hook, so first he lumbers over to get it and then lumbers back, past my bed.

They're so sentimental together, but I'd rather be sentimental on my own.

Actually, you can hardly call them that, since they're nothing but scraps of fabric, varying greatly in shape, quality and pattern, which Father and I stitched crookedly together with unskilled fingers.

This Mr. Dreher has already been a great nuisance to Father, and I've always admired the saintly patience with which he handled this pathetic old man on the phone.