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Yesterday I did not want to be borrowed but this is the typewriter that sits before me and love is where yesterday is at.

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
Typewriters
Borrowed
Sits
Yesterday
Love
Typewriter

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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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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The windows, the starving windows that drive the trees like nails into my heart.
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Once I was a couple. I was my own king and queen with cheese and bread and rosé on the rocks of Rockport.
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Well, one gets out of bed and the planets don't always hiss or muck up the day, each day.
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I love you. You are closest to my heart, closer than any other human being. You are my extension. You are my prayer. You are my belief in God. For better or worse you inherit me.
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My ideas are a curse. They spring from a radical discontent with the awful order of things. I play clown. I play carpenter. I play nurse. I play witch.
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Home is my Bethlehem, my succoring shelter, my mental hospital, my wife, my dam, my husband, my sir, my womb, my skull.
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I wonder if the artist ever lives his life--he is so busy recreating it.
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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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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.
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To die whole, riddled with nothing but desire for it, is like breakfast after love.
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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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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 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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Depression is boring, I think and I would do better to make some soup and light up the cave.
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I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.
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One of my secret instructions to myself as a poet is Whatever you do, don't be boring.
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I leave you, home, when I'm ripped from the doorstep by commerce or fate. Then I submit to the awful subway of the world.
Anne Sexton
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Images are the heart of poetry ... You're not a poet without imagery.
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There is no word for time. Today we will not think to number another summer or watch its white bird into the ground.
Anne Sexton