19 Quotes & Sayings By Mary Maclane

Mary MacLane (1820-1910) was a poet and writer who became a pivotal figure in the history of the American West. She was born in Pennsylvania and graduated from Geneva College, New York. In 1844, she moved west to the Kansas Territory, where she spent the rest of her life as a teacher and writer. Her poetry and prose dealt with such topics as prairie life, Native Americans, and the West's vast natural resources Read more

She was also very interested in women's rights, and her writings on those issues helped change social attitudes toward women. The last years of her life were devoted to writing and editing her memoirs, The Journal of Mary MacLane (1910).

1
And it is in New York I have those strangest things of all: human friendships. Not many friendships and not of spent familiarities: for I don't like actual human beings too much around me. But yet friendships made of the edges of thoughts and vivid pathos and pregnant odds and ends of nervous human flesh and Mary MacLane
2
May I never, I say, become that abnormal, merciless animal, that deformed monstrosity - a virtuous woman. Mary MacLane
3
But no matter how ferociously pitiable is the dried up graveyard, the sand and barrenness and the sluggish little stream have their own persistent individual damnation. The world is at least so constructed that its treasures may be damned each in a different manner and degree. Mary MacLane
4
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 MacLane
5
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
6
I am lithe, but fragile from constant involuntary self-analysis. Mary MacLane
7
I am a selfish, conceited, impudent little animal, it is true, but, after all, I am only one grand conglomeration of Wanting… Mary MacLane
8
It is of the dubious inevitable side of human nature–like gold teeth and tinned salmon and bastard lacy valentines Mary MacLane
9
If you ever feel to express proper gratitude for the good things of this life, be sure that you express your gratitude for the right thing. Very likely you will not have a great deal of gratitude, and you must not waste any of it but what you do have will be of the most excellent quality. For it will accumulate, and the accumulation will all go to quality. And the things for which you are to be grateful are the bitternesses you have known. If you have had it in mind ever to give way to bursts of gratitude for this air that comes from off the salt sea, for that line of pearls and violets that you see just above the horizon, for the health of your body, for the sleep that comes to you at the close of the day, for any of those things, then get rid of the idea at once. Those things are quite well, but they are not really given to you. They are merely placed where any one can reach them with little effort. The kind fates don't care whether you get them or not. Their responsibility ends when they leave them . Mary MacLane
10
Surely there must be in a world of manifold beautiful things something among them for me. And always, while I am still young, there is that dim light, the Future. But it is indeed a dim, dim light, and ofttimes there's a treachery in it. Mary MacLane
11
It is the trivial little facts about anything that describe it the most effectively. Mary MacLane
12
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
13
As I stand among the barren gulches in these days and look away at the slow-awakening hills of Montana, I hear the high, swelling, half tired, half-hopeful song of the world. As I listen I know that there are things, other than the Virtue and the Truth and the Love, that are not for me. There is beyond me, like these, the unbreaking, undying bond of human fellowship–a thing that is earth-old. Mary MacLane
14
From insipid sweet wine; from men who wear moustaches; from the sort of people that call legs 'limbs'; from bedraggled white petticoats: Kind Devil, deliver me. Mary MacLane
15
I shall have to miss forever some beautiful, wonderful things because of that wretched, lonely childhood. There will always be a lacking, a wanting -- some dead branches that never grew leaves. It is not deaths and murders and plots and wars that make life tragedy. It is day after day, and year after year, and Nothing. It is a sunburned little hand reached out and Nothing put into it. Mary MacLane
16
Sometimes I think I am a strange, strange creature -- something not of earth, nor yet of heaven, nor of hell. I think at times I am a little thing fallen on the earth by mistake: a thing thrown among foreign, unfitting elements, where every little door is closed -- every Why unanswered, and itself knows not where to lay its head. I feel a deadly certainty in some moments that the wild world contains not one moment of rest for me, that there will never be any rest, that my woman's-soul will go on asking long, long centuries after my woman's-body is laid in its grave. Mary MacLane
17
An idle brain is the Devil’s workshop, they say. It is an absurdly incongruous statement. If the Devil is at work in a brain it certainly is not idle. And when one considers how brilliant a personage the Devil is, and what very fine work he turns out, it becomes an open question whether he would have the slightest use for most of the idle brains that cumber the earth. Mary MacLane
18
May I never, I say, become that abnormal, merciless animal, that deformed monstrosity– a virtuous woman. Anything, Devil, but that. Mary MacLane