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The joy that isn't shared dies young.

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
Shared
Joy
Dies
Happiness
Young

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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I'm an empress. I wear an apron. My typewriter writes. It didn't break the way it warned. Even crazy, I'm as nice as a chocolate bar.
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As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.
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... and my love stays bitterly glowing, spasms of it will not sleep, and I am helpless and thirsty and need shade but there is no one to cover me- not even God.
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It is June. I am tired of being brave.
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All who love have lied.
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As a writer one has to take the chance on being a fool.
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I remember the stink of the liverwurst. How I was put on a platter and laid between the mayonnaise and the bacon. The rhythm of the refrigerator had been disturbed.
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The future is a fog that is still hanging out over the sea, a boat that floats home or does not. The trade winds blow me, and I do not know where the land is the waves fold over each other they are in love with themselves sleeping in their own skin and I float over them and I do not know about tomorrow.
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My business is words. Words are like labels, or coins, or better, like swarming bees.
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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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Craft is a trick you make up to let you write the poem.
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The sky breaks. It sags and breathes upon my face. in the presence of mine enemies, mine enemies The world is full of enemies. There is no safe place.
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Depression is boring, I think and I would do better to make some soup and light up the cave.
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I love the word warm. It is almost unbearable-- so moist and breathlike.
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Evil is maybe lying to God. Or better, lying to love.
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We are America. We are the coffin fillers. We are the grocers of death. We pack them in crates like cauliflowers.
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Poetry to me is prayer.
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The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars. Oh starry starry night! This is how I want to die.
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I'm hunting for the truth. It might be a kind of poetic truth, and not just a factual one, because behind everything that happens to you, there is another truth, a secret life.
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Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.
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