Quote

I like you your eyes are full of language. [Letter to Anne Clarke, July 3, 1964.]

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
Like
Anne
July
Letter
Letters
Full
Eyes
Eye
Language
Clarke

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars. Oh starry starry night! This is how I want to die.
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You who have inhabited me in the deepest and most broken place, are going, going
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But my future is a secret. / It is as shy as a mole.
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A woman / who loves a woman / is forever young.
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Now I am just an elderly lady who is full of spleen, who humps around greater Boston in a God-awful hat, who never lived and yet outlived her time, hating men and dogs and Democrats.
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Letters are false really - they are expressions of the way you wish you were instead of the way you are.
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Fear / a motor, / pumps me around and around / until I fade slowly.
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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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As a writer one has to take the chance on being a fool.
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Take a woman talking, purging herself with rhymes, drumming words out like a typewriter, planting words in you like grass seed. You'll move off.
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I'll Vacuum up my stale hair, I'll pay all my neighbors' bad debts, I'll write a poem called Yellow and put my lips down to drink it up.
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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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Depression is boring, I think and I would do better to make some soup and light up the cave.
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Then God spoke to me and said: People say only good things about Christmas. If they want to say something bad, they whisper.
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Suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build.
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Give me your skin as sheer as a cobweb, let me open it up and listen in and scoop out the dark.
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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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But even in a telephone booth evil can seep out of the receiver and we must cover it with a mattress, and then tear it from its roots and bury it, bury it.
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Evil is maybe lying to God. Or better, lying to love.
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When they turn the sun on again I'll plant children under it, I'll light up my soul with a match and let it sing.
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