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Just why I sent it to the publishers would be hard to say, but when I had finished it I felt that it was literature, because it is real and because it was well written. And I know that the world wants such things.
Mary MacLane
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Mary MacLane
Age: 48 †
Born: 1881
Born: May 1
Died: 1929
Died: August 6
Film Actor
Historian
Memoirist
Writer
Winnipeg
Manitoba
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Written
Would
Literature
World
Felt
Wells
Well
Publishers
Hard
Sent
Real
Finished
Writing
Wants
More quotes by Mary MacLane
Genius of a kind has always been with me an empty heart that has taken on a certain wooden quality an excellent, strong woman's body and a pitiably starved soul.
Mary MacLane
I am not good. I am not virtuous. I am not sympathetic. I am not generous. I am merely and above all a creature of intense passionate feeling. I feel—everything. It is my genius. It burns me like fire.
Mary MacLane
A genius who does not know that he is a genius is no genius.
Mary MacLane
But in my life, in my personality, there is an essence of falseness and insincerity. A thin, fine vapor of fraud hangs always over me and dampens and injures some things in me that I value.
Mary MacLane
I read of the Kalamazoo girl who killed herself after reading the book. I am not at all surprised. She lived in Kalamazoo, for one thing, and then she read the book.
Mary MacLane
One's thoughts are one's most crucial adventures. Seriously and strongly and intently to contemplate doing murder is everyway more exciting, more romantic, more profoundly tragic than the murder done.
Mary MacLane
Some day the Devil will come to me and say: 'Come with me.'And I will answer: 'Yes.
Mary MacLane
I am lithe, but fragile from constant involuntary self-analysis.
Mary MacLane
There is really no right and wrong. I recognize no right and wrong.
Mary MacLane
Except two breeds - the stupid and the narrowly feline - all women have a touch of the Lesbian: an assertion all good non-analytic creatures refute with horror, but quite true: there is always the poignant intensive personal taste, the flair of inner-sex, in the tenderest friendships of women.
Mary MacLane
I began to be a woman at twelve, or more properly, a genius.
Mary MacLane
I do not see any beauty in self-restraint.
Mary MacLane
I want to live quietly.
Mary MacLane
Do you think a man is the only creature with whom one may fall in love?
Mary MacLane
People say of me, 'She's peculiar.' They do not understand me. If they did they would say so oftener and with emphasis.
Mary MacLane
You may think me crude, and probably I am crude, but I am not so crude as I was, for I am clever enough to see that the girl of nineteen who thought herself a genius was only an unusual girl writing her heart out.
Mary MacLane
I am a genius. Then it amused me to keep saying so, but now it does not. I expected to be happy sometime. Now I know I shall never be.
Mary MacLane
I've never made plans for more than a day ahead.
Mary MacLane
I never give my real self. I have a hundred sides, and I turn first one way and then the other. I am playing a deep game. I have a number of strong cards up my sleeve. I have never been myself, excepting to two friends.
Mary MacLane
Well, if I am not vulgar, neither is my book. I wrote myself. Suggestiveness is always vulgar. But truth never. My book is not even remotely suggestive. I call things by their names. That is all.
Mary MacLane
