Quote

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

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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
History
Carpenter
Found
Fingers
Hands
Mines
Life
Mine
Like
Dance
Became
Clot
Blood
Rebuilt
Hand
Rushed

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Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance.
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Daisies in water are the longest lasting flower you can give to someone. Fact. Buy daisies. Not roses.
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Everyone in me is a bird I am beating all my wings
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Don’t worry if they say you’re crazy. They said that about me and yet I was saner than all of them. I knew. No matter. You know. Insane or sane, you know. It’s a good thing to know - no matter what they call it.
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I keep feeling that there isn't one poem being written by any one of us - or a book or anything like that. The whole life of us writers, the whole product I guess I mean, is the one long poem - a community effort if you will. It's all the same poem. It doesn't belong to any one writer - it's God's poem perhaps. Or God's people's poem.
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The tongue, the Chinese say, is like a sharp knife: it kills without drawing blood.
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I’m lost. And it’s my own fault. It’s about time I figured out that I can’t ask people to keep me found.
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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
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Watch out for intellect, because it knows so much it knows nothing and leaves you hanging upside down, mouthing knowledge as your heart falls out of your mouth.
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My objects dream and wear new costumes, compelled to, it seems, by all the words in my hands and the sea that bangs in my throat.
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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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The beautiful feeling after writing a poem is on the whole better even than after sex, and that's saying a lot.
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We talked death with burned-up intensity, both of us drawn to it like moths to an electric light bulb. Sucking on it!
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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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Fee-fi-fo-fum - Now I'm borrowed. Now I'm numb.
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You who have inhabited me in the deepest and most broken place, are going, going
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I tied down time with a rope but it came back. Then I put my head in a death bowl and my eyes shut up like clams. They didn't come back.
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