I began to be a woman at twelve, or more properly, a genius.

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.

People say of me, 'She's peculiar.' They do not understand me. If they did they would say so oftener and with emphasis.

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.

I would rather be a fairly happy wife and mother.

I have read of women who have been strongly, grandly brave. Sometimes I have dreamed that I might be brave. The possibilities of this life are magnificent.

I have never read a line of Walt Whitman.