Some People Say That Beauty

The World Is Like A Little Marsh Filled With Mint And White Hawthorn.

At This Point I Meet Me Face To Face. I Am Mary Maclane: Of No Importance To The Wide Bright World And Dearly And Damnably Important To Me.

I Want To Write Such Things As Compel The Admiring Acclamation Of The World At Large, Such Things As Are Written But Once In Years, Things Subtle But Distinctly Different From The Books Written Every Day.

People Say Of Me, 'she's Peculiar.' They Do Not Understand Me. If They Did They Would Say So Oftener And With Emphasis.

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.