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For me the moral dilemma this past year has been how to make peace with the unacceptable.

May Sarton

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May Sarton
Age: 83 †
Born: 1912
Born: May 3
Died: 1995
Died: July 16
Diarist
Poet
Writer
May Eleanor Sarton
Unacceptable
Dilemma
Year
Moral
Peace
Past
Make

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I write poems, have always written them, to transcend the painfully personal and reach the universal.
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a poet never feels useful.
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The tragic thing about learning from experience is I fear that one can only learn from one's own experience. Other people's - other nations' - experiences simply do not help. They can be imaginatively learned from. But people do not act on other people's experiences.
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Go rich in poverty. Go rich in poetry. This nothingness is plentitude.
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Love opens the doors into everything, as far as I can see, including and perhaps most of all, the door into one's own secret, and often terrible and frightening, real self.
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There is a wilder solitude in winter When every sense is pricked alive and keen.
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It is curious how any making of order makes one feel mentally ordered, ordered inside.
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One must think like a hero to behave like a merely decent human being.
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I believe that children long for form just as grownups do, and that it releases rather than cramps creative energy.
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It feels a long way up and down from zero.
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A holiday gives one a chance to look backward and forward to reset oneself by an inner compass.
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The poet must be free to love or hate as the spirit moves him, free to change, free to be a chameleon, free to be an enfant terrible. He must above all never worry about this effect on other people.
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We cannot afford not to fight for growth and understanding, even when it is painful, as it is bound to be.
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The creative person, the person who moves from an irrational source of power, has to face the fact that this power antagonizes. Under all the superficial praise of the creative is the desire to kill. It is the old war between the mystic and the nonmystic, a war to the death.
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Gardening is an instrument of grace.
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Routine is not a prison, but the way into freedom from time.
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Miracles cannot be explained, that is their miraculous nature.
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The only way through pain…is to absorb, probe, understand exactly what it is and what it means. To close the door on pain is to miss the chance for growth.
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I feel like an inadequate machine, a machine that breaks down at crucial moments, grinds to a dreadful hault, 'won't go,' or, even worse, explodes in some innocent person's face.
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Absence becomes the greatest Presence.
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