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It was as if a morning-glory had bloomed in her throat, and all that blue and small pollen ate into my heart, violent and religious

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
Morning
Religious
Bloomed
Heart
Pollen
Throat
Violent
Blue
Glory
Small

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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This is what poems are: with mercy for the greedy, they are the tongue's wrangle, the world's pottage, the rat's star.
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Being kissed on the back of the knee is a moth at the windowscreen.
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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 am not lazy. I am on the amphetamine of the soul. I am, each day, typing out the God my typewriter believes in.
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My husband sings Baa Baa black sheep and we pretend that all's certain and good, that the marriage won't end.
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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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Somebody who should have been born is gone. Yes, woman, such logic will lead to loss without death. Or say what you meant, you coward . . . this baby that I bleed.
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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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Today life opened inside me like an egg.
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Well, one gets out of bed and the planets don't always hiss or muck up the day, each day.
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I am younger each year at the first snow.
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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.
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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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I remember the stink of the liverwurst. How I was put on a platter and laid between the mayonnaise and the bacon. The rhythm of the refrigerator had been disturbed.
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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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... a starving man doesn't ask what the meal is.
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I'm the crazy one who thinks that words reach people.
Anne Sexton
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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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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.
Anne Sexton
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we do not explain my husband's insane abuse and we do not say why your wild-haired wife has fled or that my father opened like a walnut and then was dead. Your palms fold over me like knees. Love is the only use.
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