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The sanest thing in this world is love.

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
Thinking
World
Sanest
Thing
Love

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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I think I've been writing black poems all along, wearing my white mask. I'm always the victim ... but no longer!
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Rocks crumble, make new forms, oceans move the continents, mountains rise up and down like ghosts yet all is natural, all is change.
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To love another is somethinglike prayer and it can't be planned, you just fallinto its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.
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Every time I get happy the Nana-hex comes through. Birds turn into plumber's tools, a sonnet turns into a dirty joke, a wind turns into a tracheotomy, a boat turns into a corpse.
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Father, you died once, salted down at fifty-nine, packed down like a big snow angel, wasn't that enough?
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I am your dwarf. I am the enemy within. I am the boss of your dreams. See. Your hand shakes. It is not palsy or booze. It is your Doppelganger trying to get out. Beware...Beware...
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It doesn't matter who my father was it matters who I remember he was.
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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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Everyone in me is a bird I am beating all my wings
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You who have inhabited me in the deepest and most broken place, are going, going
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Yesterday I did not want to be borrowed but this is the typewriter that sits before me and love is where yesterday is at.
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Craft is a trick you make up to let you write the poem.
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When someone kisses someone or flushes the toilet it is my other who sits in a ball and cries. My other beats a tin drum in my heart. My other hangs up laundry as I try to sleep. My other cries and cries and cries when I put on a cocktail dress.
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All day I've built a lifetime and now the sun sinks to undo it.
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All who love have lied.
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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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But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. Twice I have so simply declared myself, have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy, have taken on his craft, his magic.
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One can't build little white picket fences to keep nightmares out.
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Of course the New Testament is very small. Its mouth opens four times as out-of-date as a prehistoric monster, yet somehow man-made.
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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.
Anne Sexton