Quote

Talk to me about sadness. I talk about it too much in my own head but I never mind others talking about it either I occasionally feel like I tremendously need others to talk about it as well.

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
Feels
Head
Needs
Talk
Much
Talking
Mind
Others
Never
Wells
Tremendously
Well
Occasionally
Like
Need
Sadness
Feel
Either

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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Poetry to me is prayer.
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Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.
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I see myself as one would see another. I have been cut in two.
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I suffer for birds and fireflies but not frogs, she said, and threw him across the room. Kaboom! Like a genie out of a samovar, a handsome prince arose in the corner of the bedroom.
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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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I brush my hair, waiting in the pain machine for my bones to get hard, for the soft, soft bones that were laid apart and were screwed together. They will knit. And the other corpse, the fractured heart, I feed it piecemeal, little chalice. I'm good to it.
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Love your self's self where it lives.
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Today is made of yesterday, each time I steal toward rites I do not know, waiting for the lost ingredient, as if salt or money or even lust would keep us calm and prove us whole at last.
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What's the point of fighting the dollars when all you need is a warm bed? When the dog barks you let him in. All we need is someone to let us in. And one other thing: to consider the lilies in the field.
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And if I tried to give you something else, something outside myself, you would not know that the worst of anyone can be, finally, an accident of hope
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My business is words. Words are like labels, or coins, or better, like swarming bees.
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Yet love enters my blood like an I.V., dripping in its little white moments.
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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
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The place I live in is a kind of maze and I keep seeking the exit or the home.
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I am teaching... This year it's kind of like having a love affair with a rhinoceros.
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All I wanted was a little piece of life, to be married, to have children.... I was trying my damnedest to lead a conventional life, for that was how I was brought up, and it was what my husband wanted of me. But one can't build little white picket fences to keep the nightmares out.
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My mouth blooms like a cut.
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And within the house ashes are being stuffed into my marriage, fury is lapping the walls, dishes crack on the shelves, a strangler needs my throat, the daughter has ceased to eat anything.
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I try to take care and be gentle to them. Words and eggs must be handled with care. Once broken they are impossible things to repair.
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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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