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Even without wars, life is dangerous.

Anne Sexton

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Anne Sexton
Age: 45 †
Born: 1928
Born: November 9
Died: 1974
Died: October 4
Poet
Writer
Newton
Massachusetts
Anne Gray Harvey
Reality
Without
Even
Life
Wars
Inspire
Dangerous
War

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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The joy that isn't shared dies young.
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When the cow gives blood and the Christ is born we must all eat sacrifices. We must all eat beautiful women.
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All who love have lied.
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the marriage twists, holds firm, a sailor's knot.
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O starry night, This is how I want to die
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Yesterday I did not want to be borrowed but this is the typewriter that sits before me and love is where yesterday is at.
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For I could not read or speak and on the long nights I could not turn the moon off or count the lights of cars across the ceiling.
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I must always forget how one word is able to pick out another, to manner another, until I have got something I might have said... but did not.
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True. There is a beautiful Jesus. He is frozen to his bones like a chunk of beef. How desperately he wanted to pull his arms in! How desperately I touch his vertical and horizontal axes! But I can't. Need is not quite belief.
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Don't bite till you know if it's bread or stone.
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Don’t worry if they say you’re crazy. They said that about me and yet I was saner than all of them. I knew. No matter. You know. Insane or sane, you know. It’s a good thing to know - no matter what they call it.
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My faith is a great weight hung on a small wire, as doth the spider hang her baby on a thin web.
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But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. Twice I have so simply declared myself, have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy, have taken on his craft, his magic.
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I tell you what you’ll never really know: all the medical hypothesis that explained my brain will never be as true as these struck leaves letting go.
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Poetry to me is prayer.
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Poetry is my life, my postmark, my hands, my kitchen, my face.
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Daisies in water are the longest lasting flower you can give to someone. Fact. Buy daisies. Not roses.
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I brush my hair, waiting in the pain machine for my bones to get hard, for the soft, soft bones that were laid apart and were screwed together. They will knit. And the other corpse, the fractured heart, I feed it piecemeal, little chalice. I'm good to it.
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To tell the truth days are all the same size and words aren't much company.
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The little girl skipped by under the wrinkled oak leaves and held fast to a replica of herself.
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