Quote

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.

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
Asks
Lost
Found
Keep
Time
Life
Figured
People
Fault
Faults

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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Oh, darling, let your body in, let it tie you in, in comfort.
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When I'm writing, I know I'm doing the thing I was born to do.
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Let the light be called Day so that men may grow corn or take busses.
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The tongue, the Chinese say, is like a sharp knife: it kills without drawing blood.
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Our children tremble in their teen-age cribs, whirling off on a thumb or a motorcycle.
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It is in the small things we see it. The child's first step, as awesome as an earthquake. The first time you rode a bike, wallowing up the sidewalk.
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The soul was not cured, it was as full as a clothes closet of dresses that did not fit.
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Images are the heart of poetry ... You're not a poet without imagery.
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Today God gives milk / and I have the pail.
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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.
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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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There is hope. There is hope everywhere. Today God give milk and I have the pail.
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Nature is full of teeth that come in one by one, then decay, fall out.
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Put your mouthful of words away and come with me to watch the lilies open in such a field, growing there like yachts, slowly steering their petals without nurses or clocks.
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And the aura of you remains, remains, remains...
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Evil is maybe lying to God. Or better, lying to love.
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... and my love stays bitterly glowing, spasms of it will not sleep, and I am helpless and thirsty and need shade but there is no one to cover me- not even God.
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My sleeping pill is white. It is a splendid pearl it floats me out of myself, my stung skin as alien as a loose bolt of cloth.
Anne Sexton
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Suddenly I'm not half the girl I used to be. There's a shadow hanging over me . . . From me to you out of my electric devil.
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