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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.
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
Boat
Sea
Future
Stills
Doe
Home
Fog
Still
Floats
Hanging
More quotes by Anne Sexton
Well, one gets out of bed and the planets don't always hiss or muck up the day, each day.
Anne Sexton
This is what poems are: with mercy for the greedy, they are the tongue's wrangle, the world's pottage, the rat's star.
Anne Sexton
My eyes, those sluts, those whores, would play no more.
Anne Sexton
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.
Anne Sexton
Loving me with my shoes off means loving my long brown legs, sweet dears, as good as spoons and my feet, those two children let out to play naked.
Anne Sexton
Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.
Anne Sexton
Maybe, although my heart is a kitten of butter, I am blowing it up like a zeppelin.
Anne Sexton
Women tell time by the body. They are like clocks. They are always fastened to the earth, listening for its small animal noises.
Anne Sexton
Jesus saw the multitudes were hungry and He said, Oh Lord, send down a short-order cook.
Anne Sexton
I am out of practice at living. You are as brave as a motorcycle.
Anne Sexton
O yellow eye, let me be sick with your heat, let me be feverish and frowning.
Anne Sexton
They [daisies] are my favorite flower. There is something innocent and vulnerable about them as if they thanked you for admiring them.
Anne Sexton
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.
Anne Sexton
Then all this became history. Your hand found mine. Life rushed to my fingers like a blood clot. Oh, my carpenter, the fingers are rebuilt. They dance with yours.
Anne Sexton
God went out of me as if the sea dried up like sandpaper, as if the sun became a latrine. God went out of my fingers. They became stone. My body became a side of mutton and despair roamed the slaughterhouse.
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My safe, safe psychosis is broken. It was hard. It was made of stone. It covered my face like a mask. But it has cracked.
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Watch out for love (unless it is true, and every part of you says yes including the toes), it will wrap you up like a mummy, and your scream won't be heard and none of your running will run.
Anne Sexton
At six I lived in a graveyard full of dolls, avoiding myself, my body, the suspect in its grotesque house.
Anne Sexton
Frog has no nerves. Frog is as old as a cockroach. Frog is my father's genitals. Frog is a malformed doorknob. Frog is a soft bag of green.
Anne Sexton
I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.
Anne Sexton