It would be curious to discover who it is to whom one writes in a diary. Possibly to some mysterious personification of one's own identity.

If I ever felt inclined to be timid as I was going into a room full of people I would say to myself "You're the cleverest member of one of the cleverest families in the cleverest class of the cleverest nation. ... Why should you be frightened?"

So much perfection argues rottenness somewhere.