Quote

When I am alone the flowers are really seen I can pay attention to them. They are felt as presences. Without them I would die...they change before my eyes. They live and die in a few days they keep me closely in touch with the process, with growth, and also with dying. I am floated on their moments.

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
Also
Eyes
Touch
Change
Dies
Flower
Live
Attention
Dying
Without
Eye
Pay
Really
Process
Growth
Presences
Would
Felt
Days
Floated
Keep
Seen
Closely
Moments
Alone
Flowers

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Why is it that people who cannot show feeling presume that that is a strength and not a weakness?
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There the door is always open into the “holy” — growth, birth, death.
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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.
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I am not ready to die, / But I am learning to trust death / As I have trusted life.
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The garden is growth and change and that means loss as well as constant new treasures to make up for a few disasters.
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What can I have that I still want?
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... love is healing, even rootless love.
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“How does one grow up?” I asked a friend the other day. There was a slight pause then she answered, “By thinking.”
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Routine is not a prison, but the way into freedom from time.
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Lunches are just not good. They take the heart out of the day and the spaciousness from the morning's work.
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One thing is certain, and I have always known it - the joys of my life have nothing to do with age. They do not change. Flowers, the morning and evening light, music, poetry, silence, the goldfinches darting about
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It takes a long time for words to become thought.
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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?
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I asked myself the question, 'What do you want of your life?' and I realized with a start of recognition and terror, 'Exactly what I have - but to be commensurate, to handle it all better.
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The more articulate one is, the more dangerous words become.
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We are all, whether we know it or not, in search of a way to enrich, to drink during the fizz, to inhale deeper our gifts, in a desperation for some little understanding before death.
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Light is snow sifted / To an abstraction.
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Words are my passion / And out of them and me / I would create beauty.
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Joy, happiness ... we do not question. They are beyond question, maybe. A matter of being. But pain forces us to think, and to make connections ... to discover what has been happening to cause it. And, curiously enough, pain draws us to other human beings in a significant way, whereas joy or happiness to some extent, isolates.
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We have to believe that every person counts, counts as a creative force that can move mountains.
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