contrary　to　my　usual　practice；　im　going　to　write　you　a　detailed　description　of　the　food　situation；　since　its　bee　a　matter　of　some　difficulty　and　importance；　not　only　here　in　the　annex；　but　in　all　of　holland；　all　of　europe　and　even　beyond。
  in　the　twenty…one　months　weve　lived　here；　weve　been　through　a　good　many　〃food　cycles〃　　youll　understand　what　that　means　in　a　moment。　a　〃food　cycle〃　is　a　period　in　which　we　have　only　one　particular　dish　or　type　of　vegetable　to　eat。　for　a　long　time　we　ate　nothing　but　endive。　endive　with　sand；　endive　without　sand；　endive　with　mashed　potatoes；　endive…and…mashed　potato　casserole。　then　it　was　spinach；　followed　by　kohlrabi；　salsify；　cucumbers；　tomatoes；　sauerkraut；　etc。；　etc。
  its　not　much　fun　when　you　have　to　eat；　say；　sauer…　kraut　every　day　for　lunch　and　dinner；　but　when　youre　hungry　enough；　you　do　a　lot　of　things。　now；　however；　were　going　through　the　most　delightful　period　so　far；　because　there　are　no　vegetables　at　all。
  our　weekly　lunch　menu　consists　of　brown　beans；　split…pea　soup；　potatoes　with　dumplings；　potato　kugel　and；　by　the　grace　of　god；　turnip　greens　or　rotten　carrots；　and　then　its　back　to　brown　beans。　because　of　the　bread　shortage；　we　eat　potatoes　at　every　meal；　starting　with　breakfast；　but　then　we　fry　them　a　little。　to　make　soup　we　use　brown　beans；　navy　beans；　potatoes；　packages　of　vege…　table　soup；　packages　of　chicken　soup　and　packages　of　bean　soup。　there　are　brown　beans　in　everything；　including　the　bread。　for　dinner　we　always　have　potatoes　with　imitation　gravy　and　　thank　goodness　weve　still　got　it　　beet　salad。　i　must　tell　you　about　the　dumplings。
  we　make　them　with　government…issue　flour；　water　and　yeast。　theyre　so　gluey　and　tough　that　it　feels　as　if　you　had　rocks　in　your　stomach；　but　oh　well！
  the　high　point　is　our　weekly　slice　of　liverwurst；　and　the　jam　on　our　unbuttered　bread。
  but　were　still　alive；　and　much　of　the　time　it　still　tastes　good　too！
  yours；　anne
  m。　frank
  wednesday；　april　5；　1944
  my　dearest　kitty；
  for　a　long　time　now　i　didnt　know　why　i　was　bothering　to　do　any　schoolwork。　the　end　of　the　war　still　seemed　so　far　away；　so　unreal；　like　a　fairy　tale。　if　the　war　isnt　over　by　september；　i　wont　go　back　to　school；　since　i　dont　want　to　be　two　years　behind。
  peter　filled　my　days；　nothing　but　peter；　dreams　and　thoughts　until　saturday　night；　when　i　felt　so　utterly　miserable；　oh；　it　was　awful。　i　held　back　my　tears　when　i　was　with　peter；　laughed　uproariously　with　the　van　daans　as　we　drank　lemon　punch　and　was　cheerful　and　excited；　but　the　minute　i　was　alone　i　knew　i　was　going　to　cry　my　eyes　out。　i　slid　to　the　floor　in　my　nightgown　and　began　by　saying　my　prayers；　very　fervently。　then　i　drew　my　knees　to　my　chest；　lay　my　head　on　my　arms　and　cried；　all　huddled　up　on　the　bare　floor。　a　loud　sob　brought　me　back　down　to　earth；　and　i　choked　back　my　tears；　since　i　didnt　want　anyone　next　door　to　hear　me。　then　i　tried　to　pull　myself　together；　saying　over　and　over；　〃i　must；　i　must；　i　must。　。　。　〃　stiff　from　sitting　in　such　an　unusual　position；　i　fell　back　against　the　side　of　the　bed　and　kept　up　my　struggle　until　just　before　ten…thirty；　when　i　climbed　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?br />
  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。