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It is, I assume, quite easy to wither into old age, and hard to grow into it.

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
Age
Easy
Hard
Wither
Assume
Assuming
Grow
Quite
Grows

More quotes by May Sarton

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Once more I realize that solitude is my element, and the reason is that extreme awareness of other people (all naturally solitary people must feel this) precludes awareness of one's self, so after a while the self no longer knows that it exists.
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It is a waste of time to see people who have only a social surface to show. I will make every effort to find out the real person, but if I can't, then I am upset and cross. Time wasted is poison.
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[In old age] there is a childlike innocence, often, that has nothing to do with the childishness of senility. The moments become precious . . .
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A house that does not have one warm, comfy chair in it is soulless.
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I write poems, have always written them, to transcend the painfully personal and reach the universal.
May Sarton
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A body without bones would be a limp impossible mess, so a day without steady routine would be disruptive and chaotic.
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The more articulate one is, the more dangerous words become.
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You can't plan for a seizure of feeling, and for this reason I put everything else aside when I'm inspired.
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We only keep what we lose.
May Sarton
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Old age is not an illness, it is a timeless ascent. As power diminishes, we grow toward the light.
May Sarton
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If art is not to be life-enhancing, what is it to be? Half the world is feminine - why is there resentment at a female-oriented art? Nobody asks The Tale of Genji to be masculine! Women certainly learn a lot from books oriented toward a masculine world. Why is not the reverse also true? Or are men really so afraid of women's creativity?
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Time unbounded is hard to handle.
May Sarton
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There were moments ... when it seemed that all one could be asked was just to keep the ashtrays clean, the bed made, the wastebaskets emptied, as if one never got to the real things because of the constant exhausting battle to keep ordinary life from falling apart.
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There is a wilder solitude in winter When every sense is pricked alive and keen.
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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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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.
May Sarton
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Your poems will happen when no one is there.
May Sarton
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Poetry is a dangerous profession between conflict and resolution, between feeling and thought, between becoming and being, between the ultra-personal and the universal - and these balances are shifting all the time.
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It is always hard to hear the buried truth from another person.
May Sarton
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Without anxiety life would have very little savor.
May Sarton