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Photo reblogged from The Holocaust
“I wonder if it’s because I haven’t been able to poke my nose outdoors for so long that I’ve grown so crazy about everything to do with nature? I can perfectly well remember that there was a time when a deep blue sky, the song of the birds, moonlight and flowers could never have kept me spellbound. That’s changed since I’ve been here.
At Whitsun, for instance, when it was warm, I stayed awake on purpose until half past eleven one evening in order to have a good look at the moon for once by myself. Alas, the sacrifice was all in vain, as the moon gave far too much light and I didn’t dare risk opening a window. Another time, some months ago now, I happened to be upstairs one evening when the window was open. I didn’t go downstairs until the window had to be shut. The dark, rainy evening, the gale, the scudding clouds held me entirely in their power; it was the first time in a year and a half that I’d seen the night face to face. After that evening my longing to see it again was greater than my fear of burglars, rats, and raids on the house. I went downstairs all by myself and looked outside through the windows in the kitchen and the private office. A lot of people are fond of nature, many sleep outdoors occasionally, and people in prisons and hospitals long for the day when they will be free to enjoy the beauties of nature, but few are so shut away and isolated from that which can be shared alike by rich and poor. It’s not imagination on my part when I say that to look up at the sky, the clouds the moon, and the stars makes me calm and patient. It’s a better medicine than either valerian or bromine; Mother Nature makes me humble and prepared to face every blow courageously.”
—Anne Frank, 15 June 1944
