Quote

They [daisies] are my favorite flower. There is something innocent and vulnerable about them as if they thanked you for admiring them.

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
Vulnerable
Innocent
Favorite
Flower
Something
Thanked
Daisies
Admiring

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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Take your foot out of the graveyard, they are busy being dead.
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O fallen angel, the companion within me, whisper something holy before you pinch me into the grave.
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You lay, a small knuckle on my white bed lay, that fist like a snail, small and strong at my breast. Your lips are animals you are fed with love. At first, hunger is not wrong.
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And what of the dead? They lie without shoes in the stone boats. They are more like stone than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone.
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But even in a telephone booth evil can seep out of the receiver and we must cover it with a mattress, and then tear it from its roots and bury it, bury it.
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Frog has no nerves. Frog is as old as a cockroach. Frog is my father's genitals. Frog is a malformed doorknob. Frog is a soft bag of green.
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Poor thing. To die and never see Brooklyn.
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I am alone here in my own mind. There is no map and there is no road. It is one of a kind just as yours is.
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For forty days, for forty nights Jesus put one foot in front of the other and the man he carried, if it was a man, became heavier and heavier.
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In a dream you are never eighty.
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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 a collection of dismantled almosts.
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Man is a bird full of mud, I say aloud. And death looks on with a casual eye and scratches his anus.
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The fish are naked. The fish are always awake. They are the color of old spoons and caramels.
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Yesterday I did not want to be borrowed but this is the typewriter that sits before me and love is where yesterday is at.
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I am younger each year at the first snow.
Anne Sexton
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Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
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I remember the stink of the liverwurst. How I was put on a platter and laid between the mayonnaise and the bacon. The rhythm of the refrigerator had been disturbed.
Anne Sexton
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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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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
Anne Sexton