Eva Braun

I sat with him for three hours and we did not exchange a single word. At the end he handed me, as he had done before, an envelope with money in it. It would have been much nicer if he had enclosed a greeting or a loving word. I would have been so pleased if he had.

God, I am afraid he won't give me his answer today. If only somebody would help me - it is all so terribly depressing.

I am so infinitely happy that he loves me so much, and I pray that it will always be like this. It won't be my fault if he ever stops loving me.

He has so often told me he is madly in love with me, but what does that mean when I haven't had a good word from him in three months?

When he says he loves me, it only means he loves me at that particular instant. Like his promises, which he never keeps. Why does he torment me like this, when he could finish it off at once?

Perhaps he wanted to be alone with Dr. G., who was here, but he should have let me know. At Hoffmann's I felt I was sitting on hot coals, expecting him to arrive every moment.

I have now reached the happy age of 23. No, happy is not quite the right word. At this particular moment I am certainly not happy.