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God owns heaven but He craves the earth.

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
Craves
Owns
Crave
Heaven
Earth

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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I rot on the wall, my own Dorian Gray.
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Bless all useful objects, the spoons made of bone, the mattress I cook my dreams upon, the typewriter that is my church with an altar of keys always waiting.
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I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.
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They [daisies] are my favorite flower. There is something innocent and vulnerable about them as if they thanked you for admiring them.
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I hoard books. They are people who do not leave.
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At six I lived in a graveyard full of dolls, avoiding myself, my body, the suspect in its grotesque house.
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God went out of me as if the sea dried up like sandpaper, as if the sun became a latrine.
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Yes I try to kill myself in small amounts, an innocuous occupation. Actually I'm hung up on it.
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I am out of practice at living. You are as brave as a motorcycle.
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Some women marry houses. It's another kind of skin it has a heart, a mouth, a liver and bowel movements.
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I, in my brand new body, which was not a woman's yet, told the stars my questions and thought God could really see the heat and the painted light, elbows, knees, dreams, goodnight.
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I think I've been writing black poems all along, wearing my white mask. I'm always the victim ... but no longer!
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You who have inhabited me in the deepest and most broken place, are going, going
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Meanwhile in my head, I’m undergoing open-heart surgery.
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I did not know the woman I would be nor that blood would bloom in me each month like an exotic flower, nor that children, two monuments, would break from between my legs.
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I would like a simple life / yet all night I am laying / poems away in a long box.
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The sanest thing in this world is love.
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I'll Vacuum up my stale hair, I'll pay all my neighbors' bad debts, I'll write a poem called Yellow and put my lips down to drink it up.
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I think of myself as writing for one person, that one perfect reader who understands and loves.
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With this pen I take in hand my selves and with these dead disciples I will grapple. Though rain curses the window let the poem be made.
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