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All day I've built a lifetime and now the sun sinks to undo it.

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
Sinks
Undo
Lifetime
Sun
Built

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Watch out for intellect, because it knows so much it knows nothing and leaves you hanging upside down, mouthing knowledge as your heart falls out of your mouth.
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... a starving man doesn't ask what the meal is.
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Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself, Counting this row and that row of moccasins Waiting on the silent shelf.
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I grow old on my bitterness.
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Don't bite till you know if it's bread or stone.
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Now, in my middle age, about nineteen in the head I'd say, I am rowing, I am rowing.
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Images are the heart of poetry ... You're not a poet without imagery.
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God owns heaven but He craves the earth.
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So I won't hang around in my hospital shift, repeating The Black Mass and all of it. I say Live, Live because of the sun, the dream, the excitable gift.
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Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren
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Love your self's self where it lives.
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As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.
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When I lie down to love, old dwarf heart shakes her head. Like an imbecile she was born old.
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Today is made of yesterday, each time I steal toward rites I do not know, waiting for the lost ingredient, as if salt or money or even lust would keep us calm and prove us whole at last.
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I am younger each year at the first snow.
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There is joy in all: in the hair I brush each morning, in the Cannon towel, newly washed, that I rub my body with each morning.
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Writers are such phonies: they sometimes have wise insights but they don't live by them at all. That's what writers are like...you think they know something, but usually they are just messes.
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The day of fire is coming, the thrush will fly ablaze like a little sky rocket.
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And we are magic talking to itself, noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins forgotten. Am I still lost? Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself
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Oh thumb, I want a drink it is dark, where are the big people, when will I get there...?
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