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Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.

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
Gracefully
Skill
Insane
Admire
Skills
Must
Even

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There is an animal inside me, clutching fast to my heart, a huge crab.
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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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There is rust in my mouth,the stain of an old kiss.
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I burn the way money burns.
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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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And within the house ashes are being stuffed into my marriage, fury is lapping the walls, dishes crack on the shelves, a strangler needs my throat, the daughter has ceased to eat anything.
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It was as if a morning-glory had bloomed in her throat, and all that blue and small pollen ate into my heart, violent and religious
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Sometimes the soul takes pictures of things it has wished for, but never seen.
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I’ll put it out there: I am scarred by the nostalgic indicipherability of my own desires I an engulfed by the intimidating unknown, pushed through darkness and dragged down by the irretrievable past sweetness of my memories.
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I try to take care and be gentle to them. Words and eggs must be handled with care. Once broken they are impossible things to repair.
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Don’t worry if they say you’re crazy. They said that about me and yet I was saner than all of them. I knew. No matter. You know. Insane or sane, you know. It’s a good thing to know - no matter what they call it.
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...became a woman who learned her own skin and dug into her soul and found it full.
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Poetry to me is prayer.
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Today God gives milk / and I have the pail.
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My business is words. Words are like labels, or coins, or better, like swarming bees.
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All day I've built a lifetime and now the sun sinks to undo it.
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Father, you died once, salted down at fifty-nine, packed down like a big snow angel, wasn't that enough?
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We talked death with burned-up intensity, both of us drawn to it like moths to an electric light bulb. Sucking on it!
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it was my first doll that water went into and water came out of much earlier it was the diaper I wore and the dirt thereof and my mother hating me for it
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There is a good look that I wear like a blood clot. I have sewn it over my left breast. I have made a vocation of it.
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