I want friends, not admirers. People who respect me for my character and my deeds, not my flattering smile.
The circle around me would be much smaller, but what does that matter, as long as they're sincere?
In spite of everything, I wasn't altogether happy in 1942; I often felt I'd been deserted,
but because I was on the go all day long, I didn't think about it.
I enjoyed myself as much as I could, trying consciously or unconsciously to fill the void with jokes.
Looking back, I realize that this period of my life has irrevocably come to a close;
my happy-go-lucky, carefree schooldays are gone forever. I don't even miss them.
I've outgrown them. I can no longer just kid around, since my serious side is always there.
I see my life up to New Year’s 1944 as if I were looking through a powerful magnifying glass.
When I was at home, my life was filled with sunshine.
Then, in the middle of 1942, everything changed overnight.
The quarrels, the accusations -- I couldn’t take it all in.
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