| JANUARY 1901 |
| 13 | I of womankind and of nineteen years |
| 14 | I have in me the germs of intense life |
| 15 | So then, yes. I find myself at this stage of womankind |
| 16 | I feel about forty years old |
| 17 | As I have said, I want Fame |
| 18 | And meanwhile—as I wait—my mind occupies itself |
| 19 | I come from a long line of Scotch and Canadian |
| 20 | I have said that I am alone. I am not quite |
| 21 | Happiness, don’t you know, is of three kinds |
| 22 | It is night. I might well be in my bed |
| 23 | I have eaten my dinner. I have had, among other things |
| 24 | I am charmingly original |
| 25 | I can remember a time long, oh, very long ago |
| 26 | I sit at my window and look out upon |
| 27 | This is not a diary. It is a Portrayal |
| 28 | I am an artist of the most artistic, the highest type |
| 29 | As I read over now and then what I have written |
| 30 | An idle brain is the Devil’s workshop, they say |
| 31 | To-day as I walked out I was impressed deeply |
|
| FEBRUARY |
| 1 | Oh, the wretched bitter loneliness of me! |
| 2 | I have been looking over the confessions of the Bashkirtseff |
| 3 | The town of Butte presents a wonderful field |
| 4 | Always I wonder, when I die will there be any one |
| 7 | In this house where I drag out my accursed |
| 8 | Often I walk out to a place on the flat valley |
| 12 | I am in no small degree, I find, a sham |
| 13 | So then … I find that I am quite, quite odd |
| 17 | To-day I walked over the hill where |
| 20 | At times when I walk among the natural things |
| 22 | Life is a pitiful thing |
| 23 | I stand in the midst of my sand and barrenness |
| 25 | Mary MacLane—what are you, you forlorn |
| 28 | To-day when I walked over my sand and barrenness |
|
| MARCH |
| 2 | Often in the early morning I leave my bed |
| 5 | Sometimes I am seized with nearer, vivider |
| 8 | There are several things in the world for which I |
| 9 | It is astonishing to me how very many contemptible |
| 10 | My genius is an element by itself |
| 11 | Sometimes when I go out on the barrenness |
| 12 | Everything is so dreary—so dreary |
| 13 | If it were pain alone that one must bear |
| 14 | I have been placed in this world with eyes to see | The Story of Mary MacLane
