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Don't bite till you know if it's bread or stone.

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
Bites
Stone
Till
Bread
Stones
Bite

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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After a disaster strikes, it can be very devastating and very challenging. You're going to need a lot of strength and energy, and the American Red Cross suggests you go for the high protein items.
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I was spread out dailyand examined for flaws.
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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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Why are all these dolls falling out of the sky? Was there a father? Or have the planets cut holes in their nets and let our childhood out, or are we the dolls themselves, born but never fed?
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Sometimes the soul takes pictures of things it has wished for, but never seen.
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You must be a poet, a lady of evil luck desiring to be what you are not, longing to be what you can only visit.
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I love the word warm. It is almost unbearable-- so moist and breathlike.
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Let God be some tribal female who is known but forbidden.
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Rats live on no evil star
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Look to your heart that flutters in and out like a moth. God is not indifferent to your need. You have a thousand prayers but God has one.
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Come, my pretender, my fritter, my bubbler, my chicken biddy! Oh succulent one, it is but one turn in the road and I would be a cannibal!
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If you meet a cross-eyed person you must plunge into the grass, alongside the chilly ants, fish through the green fingernails and come up with the four-leaf clover.
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The silence is death. It comes each day with its shock to sit on my shoulder, a white bird, and peck at the black eyes and the vibrating red muscle of my mouth.
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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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Everyone has left me except my muse, that good nurse. She stays in my hand, a mild white mouse.
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bike downtown, stick out tongues at the Catholics. Or form a Piss Club where we all go in the bushes and peek at each other's sex.
Anne Sexton
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Dead drunk is the term I think of, insensible, neither cool nor warm, without a head or a foot. To be drunk is to be intimate with a fool.
Anne Sexton
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Craft is a trick you make up to let you write the poem.
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Poems aren't postcards to send home.
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Though rain curses the window let the poem be made.
Anne Sexton