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And if I tried to give you something else, something outside myself, you would not know that the worst of anyone can be, finally, an accident of hope

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
Giving
Finally
Something
Tried
Would
Outside
Worst
Anyone
Hope
Else
Accident
Give
Accidents

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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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Perhaps I am no one. True, I have a body and I cannot escape from it. I would like to fly out of my head, but that is out of the question.
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I'm the crazy one who thinks that words reach people.
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Poetry is my life, my postmark, my hands, my kitchen, my face.
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think of innocent Icarus who is doing quite well: larger than a sail, over the fog and the blast of the plushy ocean, he goes. Admire his wings!
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Daylight is nobody's friend. God comes in like a landlord and flashes on his brassy lamp.
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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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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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I suffer for birds and fireflies but not frogs, she said, and threw him across the room. Kaboom! Like a genie out of a samovar, a handsome prince arose in the corner of the bedroom.
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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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Please God, we're all right here. Please leave us alone. Don't send death in his fat red suit and his ho-ho baritone.
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this is no dream just my oily life where the people are alibis and the street is unfindable for an entire lifetime.
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the marriage twists, holds firm, a sailor's knot.
Anne Sexton
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Earth, earthriding your merry-go-roundtoward extinction,right to the rootsthickening the oceans like gravy,festering in your caves,you are becoming a latrine.
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For forty days, for forty nights Jesus put one foot in front of the other and the man he carried, if it was a man, became heavier and heavier.
Anne Sexton
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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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Father, you died once, salted down at fifty-nine, packed down like a big snow angel, wasn't that enough?
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Well, one gets out of bed and the planets don't always hiss or muck up the day, each day.
Anne Sexton
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I am alone here in my own mind. There is no map and there is no road. It is one of a kind just as yours is.
Anne Sexton
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Need is not quite belief.
Anne Sexton