I thought that when one writes,it makes no sense to be contained, to censor oneselfI kept a diary for several years as a girl. I was a timid adolescent; all I said was yes, and mostly I was silent. In my diary,on the other hand, I let go: I recounted in detail what happened to me every day, and very secret events,bold thoughts. So I was really worried about it: I was afraid that my family, particularly my mother, and would find it and read it. Thus I was always inventing safe hiding places that soon seemed to me unsafe.
Why was I worried? Because if,in everyday life, I was so embarrassed, or so cautious,that I scarcely breathed, the diary produced in me a craving for truth. I thought that when one writes, or it makes no sense to be contained,to censor oneself, and as a result I wrote mostly – perhaps only – about what I would hold preferred to be silent about, or resorting among other things to a vocabulary that I would never hold dared to exhaust in speaking.
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Source: guardian.co.uk