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As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.

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
Cough
Concealed
Small
Cannot
Even
Love

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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I rot on the wall, my own Dorian Gray.
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O fallen angel, the companion within me, whisper something holy before you pinch me into the grave.
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Pulling off the fat diamond engagement ring, pulling off the elopement wedding ring, and holding them, clicking them in thumb and forefinger, the indent of twenty-five years, like a tiny rip leaving its mark.
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I grow old on my bitterness.
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Maybe I am becoming a hermit, opening the door for only a few special animals? Maybe my skull is too crowded and it has no opening through which to feed it soup?
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I keep feeling that there isn't one poem being written by any one of us - or a book or anything like that. The whole life of us writers, the whole product I guess I mean, is the one long poem - a community effort if you will. It's all the same poem. It doesn't belong to any one writer - it's God's poem perhaps. Or God's people's poem.
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As a writer one has to take the chance on being a fool.
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Perhaps I am no one. True, I have a body and I cannot escape from it. I would like to fly out of my head, but that is out of the question.
Anne Sexton
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Psychiatry is a dirty mirror.
Anne Sexton
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Suicide is, after all, the opposite of the poem.
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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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I am in my own mind. I am locked in the wrong house.
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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.
Anne Sexton
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The sea is mother-death and she is a mighty female, the one who wins, the one who sucks us all up.
Anne Sexton
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God has a brown voice, as soft and full as beer.
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Oh sharp diamond, my mother! I could not count the cost of all your faces, your moods that present that I lost. Sweet girl, my deathbed, my jewel-fingered lady...
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Cinderella and the prince lived, they say, happily ever after, like two dolls in a museum case never bothered by diapers or dust, never arguing over the timing of an egg, never telling the same story twice.
Anne Sexton
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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.
Anne Sexton
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I am tearing the feathers out of the pillows, waiting, waiting for Daddy to come home and stuff me so full of our infected child that I turn invisible, but married, at last.
Anne Sexton
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When someone kisses someone or flushes the toilet it is my other who sits in a ball and cries. My other beats a tin drum in my heart. My other hangs up laundry as I try to sleep. My other cries and cries and cries when I put on a cocktail dress.
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