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I am in my own mind. I am locked in the wrong house.

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
Mind
Locked
Wrong
House

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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All the oxygen of the world was in them. All the feet of the babies of the world were in them. All the crotches of the angels of the world were in them. All the morning kisses of Philadelphia were in them.
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Poor thing. To die and never see Brooklyn.
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The day of fire is coming, the thrush will fly ablaze like a little sky rocket.
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I am tearing the feathers out of the pillows, waiting, waiting for Daddy to come home and stuff me so full of our infected child that I turn invisible, but married, at last.
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Oh thumb, I want a drink it is dark, where are the big people, when will I get there...?
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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.
Anne Sexton
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I would sell my life to avoid the pain that begins in the crib with its bars or perhaps with your first breath when the planets drill your future into you.
Anne Sexton
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Not that it was beautiful, but that, in the end, there was a certain sense of order there something worth learning in that narrow diary of my mind
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Fear / a motor, / pumps me around and around / until I fade slowly.
Anne Sexton
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Poems aren't postcards to send home.
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...became a woman who learned her own skin and dug into her soul and found it full.
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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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Mood can be as important as sense.
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And tonight our skin, our bones, that have survived our fathers, will meet, delicate in the hold, fastened together in an intricate lock. Then one of us will shout, My need is more desperate! and I will eat you slowly with kisses even though the killer in you has gotten out.
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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.
Anne Sexton
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Father, you died once, salted down at fifty-nine, packed down like a big snow angel, wasn't that enough?
Anne Sexton
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There is joy in all: in the hair I brush each morning, in the Cannon towel, newly washed, that I rub my body with each morning.
Anne Sexton
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In a dream you are never eighty.
Anne Sexton
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Not that it was beautiful, but that I found some order there.
Anne Sexton
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Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren
Anne Sexton