FridayMar 13, 2026
Quotes: 53419 Authors: 9969
May Sarton (May 3, 1912-July 16, 1995) was an American poet, novelist, and memoirist born in Wondelgem, Belgium. Many of her novels and poems are pellucid reflections of the lesbian experience.
Women are at last becoming persons first and wives second, and that is as it should be.
No partner in a love relationship should feel that he has to give up an essential part of himself to make it viable.
It was completely fruitless to quarrel with the world, whereas the quarrel with oneself was occasionally fruitful and always, she had to admit, interesting.
A holiday gives one a chance to look backward and forward, to reset oneself by an inner compass.
Self-respect is nothing to hide behind. When you need it most it isn't there.
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.
In the garden the door is always open into the 'holy' - growth, birth, death. Every flower holds the whole mystery in its short cycle, and in the garden we are never far away from death, the fertilizing, good, creative death.
It always comes to the same necessity: go deep enough and there is a bedrock of truth, however hard.
We saw the strong trees struggle and their plumes do down, The poplar bend and whip back till it split to fall, The elm tear up at the root and topple like a crown, The pine crack at the base - we had to watch them all. The ash, the lovely cedar. We had to watch them fall. They went so softly under the loud flails of air, Before that fury they went down like feathers, With all the hundred springs that flowered in their hair, and all the years, endured in all the weathers - To fall as if they were nothing, as if they were feathers.
In the country of pain we are each alone.
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