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 MacLaneMots clés 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 MacLaneMots clés sex mortality uncertainty
…the neurotic torture of being seductive regularly—by the night: the more that perchance the struggle always is unconscious.
Mary MacLaneMots clés femininity
It is to be hoped you are not ‘intellectual,’ which is an unpardonable trait
Mary MacLaneMots clés intellectualism intelligentsia
I live an immoral life. It is immoral because it is deadly futile.
Mary MacLaneMots clés 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 MacLaneMots clés 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 MacLaneMots clés selfishness desire
May I never, I say, become that abnormal, merciless animal, that deformed monstrosity— a virtuous woman. Anything, Devil, but that.
Mary MacLaneMots clés 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 MacLaneMots clés beauty beauty-curse
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