There are some griefs so loud/They could bring down the sky/And there are griefs so still/None knows how deep they lie. — May Sarton Copy Share Image
“I am not ready to die, But I am learning to trust death As I have trusted life. I am moving Toward… — May Sarton Copy Share Image
I would like to believe when I die that I have given myself away like a tree that sows seed every spring… — May Sarton Copy Share Image
The creative person, the person who moves from an irrational source of power, has to face the fact that this power antagonizes.… — May Sarton Copy Share Image
We are all, whether we know it or not, in search of a way to enrich, to drink during the fizz, to… — May Sarton Copy Share Image
I am not ready to die, / But I am learning to trust death / As I have trusted life. — May Sarton Copy Share Image
Do I think there's life after death? No, I think my books are my life after death. — May Sarton Copy Share Image
“There are some griefs so loud They could bring down the sky, And there are griefs so still None knows how deep… — May Sarton Copy Share Image
In the garden the door is always open into the "holy" - growth, birth, death. Every flower holds the whole mystery in… — May Sarton Copy Share Image
A garden is always a series of losses set against a few triumphs, like life itself. — 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 Image
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 Image
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 Image
For to be desperate is to discover strength. / We die of comfort and by conflict live. — May Sarton Copy Share Image
“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 Image
There is a wilder solitude in winter When every sense is pricked alive and keen. — May Sarton Copy Share Image
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 Image
Why is it that people who cannot show feeling presume that that is a strength and not a weakness? — May Sarton Copy Share Image
Innocence is not pure so much as pleased, Always expectant, bright-eyed, self-enclosed — May Sarton Copy Share Image
