I fail remarkably. I write Eye when I mean Tooth. I write Fornicate when I mean Caress. I write Wine when I mean Blood.
Mary MacLaneTags: writing
I Don’t Know whether lust is a human coarseness or a human fineness: I don’t know why death holds a so sweet lure since it would take away my Body: I don’t know that I wouldn’t deny my Christ, if I had one, three times before a given cockcrow: I don’t know on the other hand that I would: I don’t know whether honor is a reality in human beings or a pose: I don’t know that I mayn’t be able to think with my Body when it is in its coffin.
Mary MacLaneTags: sex mortality uncertainty
…the neurotic torture of being seductive regularly—by the night: the more that perchance the struggle always is unconscious.
Mary MacLaneTags: femininity
It is to be hoped you are not ‘intellectual,’ which is an unpardonable trait
Mary MacLaneTags: intellectualism intelligentsia
I live an immoral life. It is immoral because it is deadly futile.
Mary MacLaneTags: futility
…some bits of Dickens-books with which latter I am long familiar and long enamored for the restful falseness of their sentiment and the pungent appetizing charm of their villains.
Mary MacLaneTags: charles-dickens
I am a selfish, conceited, impudent little animal, it is true, but, after all, I am only one grand conglomeration of Wanting…
Mary MacLaneTags: selfishness desire
May I never, I say, become that abnormal, merciless animal, that deformed monstrosity— a virtuous woman. Anything, Devil, but that.
Mary MacLaneTags: virtue
Some people say that beauty is a curse. It may be true, but I'm sure I should not have at all minded being cursed a little.
Mary MacLaneTags: beauty beauty-curse
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