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
Letter
Letters
Full
Eyes
Eye
Language
Clarke
Like
Anne
July

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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But my future is a secret. / It is as shy as a mole.
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It is a dead heart. It is inside of me. It is a stranger yet once it was agreeable, opening and closing like a clam.
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We are America. We are the coffin fillers. We are the grocers of death. We pack them in crates like cauliflowers.
Anne Sexton
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The joy that isn't shared dies young.
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No matter whose bed you die in the bed will be yours for your voyage onto the surgical andiron of God.
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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.
Anne Sexton
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Oh sharp diamond, my mother! I could not count the cost of all your faces, your moods that present that I lost. Sweet girl, my deathbed, my jewel-fingered lady...
Anne Sexton
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I love the word warm. It is almost unbearable-- so moist and breathlike.
Anne Sexton
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So I won't hang around in my hospital shift, repeating The Black Mass and all of it. I say Live, Live because of the sun, the dream, the excitable gift.
Anne Sexton
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The family story tells, and it was told true, of my great-grandfather who begat eight genius children and bought twelve almost new grand pianos. He left a considerable estate when he died.
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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. The trade winds blow me, and I do not know where the land is the waves fold over each other they are in love with themselves sleeping in their own skin and I float over them and I do not know about tomorrow.
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[I] have fantasies of killing myself and thus being the powerful one not the powerless one.
Anne Sexton
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Someone is dead. Even the trees know it, those poor old dancers who come on lewdly, all pea-green scarfs and spine pole.
Anne Sexton
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The snow has quietness in it no songs, no smells, no shouts or traffic. When I speak my own voice shocks me.
Anne Sexton
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The windows, the starving windows that drive the trees like nails into my heart.
Anne Sexton
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What a lay me down this is with two pink, two orange, two green, two white goodnights.
Anne Sexton
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Now I am going back And I have ripped my hand From your hand as I said I would And I have made it this far.
Anne Sexton
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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
Anne Sexton
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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.
Anne Sexton
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stop the darkness and its amputations and find the real McCoy in the private holiness of my hands.
Anne Sexton