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Here in the hospital, I say,that is not my body, not my body.I am not here for the doctorsto read like a recipe.
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
Recipe
Recipes
Hospital
Hospitals
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Body
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More quotes by Anne Sexton
It doesn't matter who my father was it matters who I remember he was.
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I see myself as one would see another. I have been cut in two.
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I who was a house full of bowel movement, I who was a defaced altar, I who wanted to crawl toward God could not move nor eat bread.
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Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.
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All who love have lied.
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God owns heaven but He craves the earth.
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Let God be some tribal female who is known but forbidden.
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I am in my own mind. I am locked in the wrong house.
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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 Its mouth opens four times as out-of-date as a prehistoric monster, yet somehow man-made.
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Cinderella and the prince lived, they say, happily ever after, like two dolls in a museum case never bothered by diapers or dust, never arguing over the timing of an egg, never telling the same story twice.
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The ground has on its clothes. The trees poke out of sheets and each branch wears the sock of God.
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I am so imperfect, can you love me when really my soul is deformed? Will you love me anyhow?
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Love? Be it man. Be it woman. It must be a wave you want to glide in on, give your body to it, give your laugh to it, give, when the gravelly sand takes you, your tears to the land. To love another is something like prayer and can't be planned, you just fall into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.
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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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God has a brown voice, as soft and full as beer.
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My sleeping pill is white. It is a splendid pearl it floats me out of myself, my stung skin as alien as a loose bolt of cloth.
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I was only sitting here in my white study with the awful black words pushing me around.
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Death, I need my little addiction to you. I need that tiny voice who, even as I rise from the sea, all woman, all there, says kill me, kill me.
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Maybe, although my heart is a kitten of butter, I am blowing it up like a zeppelin.
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Take your foot out of the graveyard, they are busy being dead.
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