We have to make myths of our lives, the point being that if we do, then every grief or inexplicable seizure by… — May Sarton Copy Share Image
It is harder for women, perhaps to be 'one-pointed,' much harder for them to clear space around whatever it is they want… — 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
“It is time I came back to my real life After this voyage to an island with no name, Where I lay… — May Sarton Copy Share Image
For of course one is never safe when in love. Growth is demanding and may seem dangerous, for there is loss as… — May Sarton Copy Share Image
“I am here alone for the first time in weeks, to take up my “real” life again at last. That is what… — May Sarton Copy Share Image
It is only when we can believe that we are creating the soul that life has any meaning, but when we can… — May Sarton Copy Share Image
“When I speak of life and love as expanding with age, sex seems the least important thing. At any age we grow… — May Sarton Copy Share Image
The gift turned inward, unable to be given, becomes a heavy burden, even sometimes a kind of poison. It is as though… — May Sarton Copy Share Image
Life comes in clusters, clusters of solitude, then a cluster when there is hardly time to breathe. — May Sarton Copy Share Image
poetry is first of all a way of life and only secondarily a way of writing. — 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
