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O yellow eye, let me be sick with your heat, let me be feverish and frowning.

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
Eye
Feverish
Frowning
Yellow
Sunshine
Heat
Sick

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Depression is boring, I think and I would do better to make some soup and light up the cave.
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And the aura of you remains, remains, remains...
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Look to your heart that flutters in and out like a moth. God is not indifferent to your need. You have a thousand prayers but God has one.
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Love your self's self where it lives.
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I will be steel! I will build a steel bridge over my need! I will build a bomb shelter over my heart! But my future is a secret. It is as shy as a mole.
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Now that I have written many words, and let out so many loves, for so many, and been altogether what I always was a woman of excess, of zeal and greed, I find the effort useless.
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Images are the heart of poetry ... You're not a poet without imagery.
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Take adultery or theft. Merely sins. It is evil who dines on the soul, stretching out its long bone tongue. It is evil who tweezers my heart, picking out its atomic worms.
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Now I am going back And I have ripped my hand From your hand as I said I would And I have made it this far.
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the marriage twists, holds firm, a sailor's knot.
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And thus Snow White became the prince's bride. The wicked queen was invited to the wedding feast and when she arrived there were red-hot iron shoes, in the manner of red-hot roller skates, clamped upon her feet.
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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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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
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Blue eyes wash off sometimes.
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I think it will be a miracle if I don't someday end up killing myself.
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Oh, darling, let your body in, let it tie you in, in comfort.
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When they turn the sun on again I'll plant children under it, I'll light up my soul with a match and let it sing.
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life is a trick, life is a kitten in a sack.
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My eyes, those sluts, those whores, would play no more.
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My business is words. Words are like labels, or coins, or better, like swarming bees.
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