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I grow old on my bitterness.

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
Bitterness
Grow
Grows

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Poetry to me is prayer.
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Our children tremble in their teen-age cribs, whirling off on a thumb or a motorcycle.
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Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance.
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In a dream you are never eighty.
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I was spread out dailyand examined for flaws.
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Not that it was beautiful, but that I found some order there.
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Poets are sitting in my kitchen. Why do these poets lie? Why do children get children and Did you hear what it said?
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Even without wars, life is dangerous.
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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.
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The sanest thing in this world is love.
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Sometimes the soul takes pictures of things it has wished for, but never seen.
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The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars. Oh starry starry night! This is how I want to die.
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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 rot on the wall, my own Dorian Gray.
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After a disaster strikes, it can be very devastating and very challenging. You're going to need a lot of strength and energy, and the American Red Cross suggests you go for the high protein items.
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As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.
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it was my first doll that water went into and water came out of much earlier it was the diaper I wore and the dirt thereof and my mother hating me for it
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Someone is dead. Even the trees know it, those poor old dancers who come on lewdly, all pea-green scarfs and spine pole.
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Come, my pretender, my fritter, my bubbler, my chicken biddy! Oh succulent one, it is but one turn in the road and I would be a cannibal!
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Fear / a motor, / pumps me around and around / until I fade slowly.
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