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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
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Recipe
Recipes
Hospital
Hospitals
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Body

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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Blue eyes wash off sometimes.
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In an old time there was a king as wise as a dictionary.
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I'm hunting for the truth. It might be a kind of poetic truth, and not just a factual one, because behind everything that happens to you, there is another truth, a secret life.
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Letters are false really - they are expressions of the way you wish you were instead of the way you are.
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The snow has quietness in it no songs, no smells, no shouts or traffic. When I speak my own voice shocks me.
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I put the gold star up in the front window beside the flag. Alterations is what I know and what I did: hems, gussets and seams.
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All who love have lied.
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I've grown tired of love You are the trouble with me I watch you walk right by
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My life has appeared unclothed in court, detail by detail, death-bone witness by death-bone witness, and I was shamed at the verdict.
Anne Sexton
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Home is my Bethlehem, my succoring shelter, my mental hospital, my wife, my dam, my husband, my sir, my womb, my skull.
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The day of fire is coming, the thrush will fly ablaze like a little sky rocket.
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All considerations for these human remains! They must have an escort! They are classified!
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True. There is a beautiful Jesus. He is frozen to his bones like a chunk of beef. How desperately he wanted to pull his arms in! How desperately I touch his vertical and horizontal axes! But I can't. Need is not quite belief.
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Rejoice with the day lily for it is born for a day to live by the mailbox and glorify the roadside
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Maybe I am becoming a hermit, opening the door for only a few special animals? Maybe my skull is too crowded and it has no opening through which to feed it soup?
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My ideas are a curse. They spring from a radical discontent with the awful order of things. I play clown. I play carpenter. I play nurse. I play witch.
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I wonder if the artist ever lives his life--he is so busy recreating it.
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It's a little mad, but I believe I am many people. When I am writing a poem, I feel I am the person who should have written it.
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I am teaching... This year it's kind of like having a love affair with a rhinoceros.
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Today is made of yesterday, each time I steal toward rites I do not know, waiting for the lost ingredient, as if salt or money or even lust would keep us calm and prove us whole at last.
Anne Sexton