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Now I am going back And I have ripped my hand From your hand as I said I would And I have made it this far.

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
Made
Would
Ripped
Hand
Hands
Back
Going

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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In a dream you are never eighty.
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Rocks crumble, make new forms, oceans move the continents, mountains rise up and down like ghosts yet all is natural, all is change.
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I rot on the wall, my own Dorian Gray.
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To be without God is to be a snake / who wants to swallow an elephant.
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And tonight our skin, our bones, that have survived our fathers, will meet, delicate in the hold, fastened together in an intricate lock. Then one of us will shout, My need is more desperate! and I will eat you slowly with kisses even though the killer in you has gotten out.
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I am teaching... This year it's kind of like having a love affair with a rhinoceros.
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A woman / who loves a woman / is forever young.
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Then all this became history. Your hand found mine. Life rushed to my fingers like a blood clot. Oh, my carpenter, the fingers are rebuilt. They dance with yours.
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The man inside of woman ties a knot so that they will never again be separate.
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All the oxygen of the world was in them. All the feet of the babies of the world were in them. All the crotches of the angels of the world were in them. All the morning kisses of Philadelphia were in them.
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It is June. I am tired of being brave.
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Take a woman talking, purging herself with rhymes, drumming words out like a typewriter, planting words in you like grass seed. You'll move off.
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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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All I wanted was a little piece of life, to be married, to have children.... I was trying my damnedest to lead a conventional life, for that was how I was brought up, and it was what my husband wanted of me. But one can't build little white picket fences to keep the nightmares out.
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I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.
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It is in the small things we see it. The child's first step, as awesome as an earthquake. The first time you rode a bike, wallowing up the sidewalk.
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Give me your skin as sheer as a cobweb, let me open it up and listen in and scoop out the dark.
Anne Sexton
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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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Today life opened inside me like an egg.
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Our checks are pale. Our wallets are invalids. Past due, past due, is what our bills are saying and yet we kiss in every corner, scuffing the dust and the cat. Love rises like bread as we go bust.
Anne Sexton