I read this for the first time a couple of years ago, I must have been, what 14? I had heard everyone talking about it and all my older relatives had told me to read it, but I had never given it much thought. Then I picked it up in a “what the hell” phase in the library and read it to kill sometime.
When I left the library, I left the book there. The next time I visited the library, I picked up where I left off. This routine continued until I finished the book, tears in my eyes and the feeling I had made and lost a friend.
When I look back on it now, I feel quite guilty that I never took the book out of the library, that I never gave it the satisfaction it truly deserved as being one of the books that, I feel has made an impact not just on my life, but lives across the globe. So one day, not too long ago, I bought it at a bookshop, it was going cheap and I thought “what the hell”.
About a year after reading this, I visited Germany on a school trip; Frankfurt, where there was a small museum about Anne Frank. If I had not have read her diary, I would have never have enjoyed myself.
This is one of those books that put me in certain situations. Anne Frank will come up in a conversation, and I’ll pipe up with enthusiasm “Oh, I loved her book. You should read it.”
I’ve noticed I’m constantly thanking the authors, because they deserve all the thanks in the world.
“I don’t think of all the misery, but of all the beauty that remains.”