For poetry exists to break through to below the level of reason where the angels and monsters that the amenities keep in the cellar may come out to dance, to rove and roar, growling and singing, to bring life back… — May Sarton Copy Share Image
“I felt pain like an assault, The old pain again When the world thrusts itself inside, When we have to take in the outside,… — May Sarton Copy Share
This suspension of one's own reality, this being entirely alone in a strange city (at times I wondered if I had lost the power… — May Sarton Copy Share
Real joy is becoming exceedingly rare among artists of any kind. And I have an idea that those who can and do communicate it… — May Sarton Copy Share
For to be desperate is to discover strength. / We die of comfort and by conflict live. — May Sarton Copy Share
“I see you with that shell Held to your sensitive abstracted ear, Hunting the ocean’s rumor till you hear it well, Until you can… — May Sarton Copy Share
There is a wilder solitude in winter When every sense is pricked alive and keen. — May Sarton Copy Share
I long for the bulbs to arrive, for the early autumn chores are melancholy, but the planting of bulbs is the work of hope… — May Sarton Copy Share
Why is it that people who cannot show feeling presume that that is a strength and not a weakness? — May Sarton Copy Share
Innocence is not pure so much as pleased, Always expectant, bright-eyed, self-enclosed — May Sarton Copy Share
I have written every poem, every novel, for the same purpose-to find out what I think, to know where I stand. — May Sarton Copy Share
all great people are humble because great people have great work and are humbled by the largeness of their dreams. — May Sarton Copy Share
