  To-day SO it is finished: and I have oddly Failed. I have slyly Succeeded and oddly Failed in equal degree. I have Failed because I am too cowardly and too weak and too dishonest to write certain bruised and self-accusing places in my Soul and in my Heart and in my Mind which rightly come in the scope of this: there are the Stern and Delicate Voices one closes one’s ears against: there are the starry grimy Actualities one drops from one’s hands: there are the Thoughts one Does Not Think. Yet and yet: they too are in it, hanging cobweb-ish on my wordings and colons. It is not a strong tale, and that is very well. This book is less I-written than it is I-myself. And Just Beneath The Skin no person is strong: not Theodore Roosevelt, true fearless American: not Bonaparte, splendid tyrant: not Joan of Arc, titanic martyr. They are strong in their depths and strong on the outside. So are many others. So am I, I think. But just under the skin all who are human are roundly weak. Roundly weak, every one. And with that, in my case, False. This primarily is the picture of one who is made-False: It is belike because of that that this, as itself, oddly Fails. It is as if I have made a portrait not of Me, but of a Room I have just quitted. My Gloves are left on a chair: my Hat is left on a couch: my taken-off Shoes are left on the floor: my faint-smelling Handkerchief is dropped by the door: my round ribboned Garter is hanging on the door-knob: my Breath is in the air: my Grief is on the walls clinging like smoke: my flat Despair is on the petunia-leaves in the window: my fragrant Horridness lingers in the curtains. I am not there! But I—I have just Quitted that Room!— Therein I have slyly Succeeded. My feeling at my book’s-end is a prayer-feeling, both frantic and quiet: God have mercy on me! but not unless you want to. And I feel barbarous and utterly solitary, solitary from here to Jericho, solitary from here to the cool stars. There comes off the grim gray east hills a soft whelming taste of Sunset, bloody and full of human marrows. And I feel a need of great Pain or great Sin to make and break me, Soul and bones. Transcriber’s Notes The cover, which was created by the transcriber by using images of the original blank cover of the book and its frontispiece, is placed in the public domain. Contents was added for the reader’s convenience. As the first lines of the paragraphs in the original are not indented, in some cases the presence of a paragraph break is not entirely certain. In such cases, insertion of paragraph breaks was determined according to the structure and content of the surrounding text. Page images of the original are available at the Internet Archive: American Libraries (http://archive.org/details/imarymclanediary00macl). Except for the following changes, spelling, hyphenation, and punctuation have been preserved as printed in the original.
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