“The trouble is that old age is not interesting until one gets there, a foreign country with an unknown language to the… — May Sarton Copy Share Image
I suppose real old age begins when one looks backward rather than forward — May Sarton Copy Share Image
It is, I assume, quite easy to wither into old age, and hard to grow into it. — May Sarton Copy Share Image
“Old age is really a disguise that no one but the old themselves see through. I feel exactly as I always did,… — May Sarton Copy Share Image
For inside all the weakness of old age, the spirit, God knows, is as mercurial as it ever was. — May Sarton Copy Share Image
The trouble is, old age is not interesting until one gets there. It's a foreign country with an unknown language to the… — May Sarton Copy Share Image
One of the good elements of old age is that we no longer have to prove anything, to ourselves or to anyone… — May Sarton Copy Share Image
[In old age] there is a childlike innocence, often, that has nothing to do with the childishness of senility. The moments become… — May Sarton Copy Share Image
Old age is not an illness, it is a timeless ascent. As power diminishes, we grow toward the light. — May Sarton Copy Share Image
Growing old is, of all things we experience, that which takes the most courage, and at a time when we have the… — 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