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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

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
Still
Forgotten
Sin
Magic
Alone
Talking
Noisy
Lost
Queen
Beautiful
Queens
Stills
Sins

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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I want to kiss God on His nose and watch Him sneeze and so do you. Not out of disrespect. Out of pique. Out of a man-to-man thing.
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My husband sings Baa Baa black sheep and we pretend that all's certain and good, that the marriage won't end.
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bike downtown, stick out tongues at the Catholics. Or form a Piss Club where we all go in the bushes and peek at each other's sex.
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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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And tonight our skin, our bones, that have survived our fathers, will meet, delicate in the hold, fastened together in an intricate lock. Then one of us will shout, My need is more desperate! and I will eat you slowly with kisses even though the killer in you has gotten out.
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They [daisies] are my favorite flower. There is something innocent and vulnerable about them as if they thanked you for admiring them.
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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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Poetry is my life, my postmark, my hands, my kitchen, my face.
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Blue eyes wash off sometimes.
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A woman / who loves a woman / is forever young.
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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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I wonder if the artist ever lives his life--he is so busy recreating it.
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Look to your heart that flutters in and out like a moth. God is not indifferent to your need. You have a thousand prayers but God has one.
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Big heart, wide as a watermelon, but wise as birth, there is so much abundance in the people I have.
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I am a collection of dismantled almosts.
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I find now, swallowing one teaspoon of pain, that it drops downward to the past where it mixes with last year’s cupful and downward into a decade’s quart and downward into a lifetime’s ocean. I alternate treading water and deadman’s float.
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The future is a fog that is still hanging out over the sea, a boat that floats home or does not.
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I'm the crazy one who thinks that words reach people.
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Women tell time by the body. They are like clocks. They are always fastened to the earth, listening for its small animal noises.
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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.
Anne Sexton