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There is a wilder solitude in winter When every sense is pricked alive and keen.
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
Pricked
Wilder
Keen
Solitude
Winter
Alive
Sense
Every
More quotes by May Sarton
I suppose one has to remember that 'life' is important too, though it's something I forget in some moods, everything except work seeming like an interruption or really non-life.
May Sarton
One does not find oneself by pursuing one's self, but on the contrary by pursuing something else and learning through discipline or routine. . . who one is and wants to be.
May Sarton
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.
May Sarton
“How does one grow up?” I asked a friend the other day. There was a slight pause then she answered, “By thinking.”
May Sarton
we are never done with thinking about our parents, I suppose, and come to know them better long after they are dead than we ever did when they were alive.
May Sarton
One could go on revising a prose page forever whereas there is a point in a poem when one knows it is done forever.
May Sarton
The more articulate one is, the more dangerous words become.
May Sarton
About loving, I have little to learn from the young.
May Sarton
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.
May Sarton
Words are my passion / And out of them and me / I would create beauty.
May Sarton
I believe that children long for form just as grownups do, and that it releases rather than cramps creative energy.
May Sarton
It looks as if I were meant to be alone, and that any hope of happiness is not meant. Am I too old to acquire the knack for happiness?
May Sarton
I can understand people simply fleeing the mountainous effort Christmas has become... but there are always a few saving graces and finally they make up for all the bother and distress.
May Sarton
Where joy in an old pencil is not absurd.
May Sarton
Inside my mother's death / I lay and could not breathe.
May Sarton
I have written every poem, every novel, for the same purpose-to find out what I think, to know where I stand.
May Sarton
When one's not writing poems - and I'm not at the moment - you wonder how you ever did it. It's like another country you can't reach.
May Sarton
I tell the gods are still alive / And they are not consoling.
May Sarton
She became for me an island of light, fun, wisdom where I could run with my discoveries and torments and hopes at any time of day and find welcome.
May Sarton
Mountains define you. You cannot define / Them.
May Sarton