May Sarton Quotes

Who was May Sarton?

May Sarton is the pen name of Eleanore Marie Sarton, a prolific Belgian-American poet, novelist and memoirist. She is the daughter of science historian George Sarton.

Born May 3, 1912
Died July 16, 1995
Aged 83 years old

Books by May Sarton

Best 10 Quotes by May Sarton

“A house that does not have one worn, comfy chair in it is soulless.”

“Everything that slows us down and forces patience, everything that sets us back into the slow circles of nature, is a help. Gardening is an instrument of grace.”

“I always forget how important the empty days are, how important it may be sometimes not to expect to produce anything, even a few lines in a journal. A day when one has not pushed oneself to the limit seems a damaged damaging day, a sinful day. Not so! The most valuable thing one can do for the psyche, occasionally, is to let it rest, wander, live in the changing light of a room.”

“I think of the trees and how simply they let go, let fall the riches of a season, how without grief (it seems) they can let go and go deep into their roots for renewal and sleep.... Imitate the trees. Learn to lose in order to recover, and remember that nothing stays the same for long, not even pain, psychic pain. Sit it out. Let it all pass. Let it go.”

“I would like to believe when I die that I have given myself away like a tree that sows seed every spring and never counts the loss, because it is not loss, it is adding to future life. It is the tree's way of being. Strongly rooted perhaps, but spilling out its treasure on the wind.”

“Read between the lines. Then meet me in the silence if you can.”

“The trouble is, old age is not interesting until one gets there. It's a foreign country with an unknown language to the young and even to the middle-aged.”

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“We have to dare to be ourselves, however frightening or strange that self may prove to be.”

“When you change the way you look at a thing, the thing itself changes.”

“Without darkness, nothing comes to birth, As without light, nothing flowers.”

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“Each soldier was the living image of the others, but there was one who was a bit different. He had only one leg, for he was the last to be cast and the tin had run out. Still, there he stood, just as steadfast on his one leg as the others on their two; and he is the tin soldier we are going to hear about.”

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