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Death, I need my little addiction to you. I need that tiny voice who, even as I rise from the sea, all woman, all there, says kill me, kill me.

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
Woman
Death
Addiction
Littles
Rise
Little
Tiny
Need
Sea
Needs
Kill
Even
Says
Voice

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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She is so naked and singular. She is the sum of yourself and your dream. Climb her like a monument, step after step. She is solid.
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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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And the aura of you remains, remains, remains...
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All I am is the trick of words writing themselves.
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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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Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.
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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 ground has on its clothes. The trees poke out of sheets and each branch wears the sock of God.
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The day of fire is coming, the thrush will fly ablaze like a little sky rocket.
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I am not lazy. I am on the amphetamine of the soul. I am, each day, typing out the God my typewriter believes in.
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Mood can be as important as sense.
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Poetry is my life, my postmark, my hands, my kitchen, my face.
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The tongue, the Chinese say, is like a sharp knife: it kills without drawing blood.
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The man inside of woman ties a knot so that they will never again be separate.
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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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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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Put your mouthful of words away and come with me to watch the lilies open in such a field, growing there like yachts, slowly steering their petals without nurses or clocks.
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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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The grass as bristly and stout as chives and me wondering when the ground will break and me wondering how anything fragile survives
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Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
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