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But my future is a secret. / It is as shy as a mole.

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
Mole
Moles
Shy
Secret
Future

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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I would like to think that no one would die anymore if we all believed in daisies but the worms know better, don't they? They slide into the ear of a corpse and listen to his great sigh.
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My heart is on a budget. It keeps me on the brink.
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Father, you died once, salted down at fifty-nine, packed down like a big snow angel, wasn't that enough?
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The little girl skipped by under the wrinkled oak leaves and held fast to a replica of herself.
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bike downtown, stick out tongues at the Catholics. Or form a Piss Club where we all go in the bushes and peek at each other's sex.
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My safe, safe psychosis is broken. It was hard. It was made of stone. It covered my face like a mask. But it has cracked.
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Mood can be as important as sense.
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And the aura of you remains, remains, remains...
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Though rain curses the window let the poem be made.
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No one to hate except the slim fish of memory that slides in and out of my brain.
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Once I was a couple. I was my own king and queen with cheese and bread and rosé on the rocks of Rockport.
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The tongue, the Chinese say, is like a sharp knife: it kills without drawing blood.
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Every time I get happy the Nana-hex comes through. Birds turn into plumber's tools, a sonnet turns into a dirty joke, a wind turns into a tracheotomy, a boat turns into a corpse.
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God went out of me as if the sea dried up like sandpaper, as if the sun became a latrine. God went out of my fingers. They became stone. My body became a side of mutton and despair roamed the slaughterhouse.
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Then God spoke to me and said: People say only good things about Christmas. If they want to say something bad, they whisper.
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Writers are such phonies: they sometimes have wise insights but they don't live by them at all. That's what writers are like...you think they know something, but usually they are just messes.
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You cutting the lawn, fixing the machines, all this leprous day and then more vodka, more soda and the pond forgiving our bodies, the pond sucking out the throb.
Anne Sexton
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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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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.
Anne Sexton
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I have a black look I do not like. It is a mask I try on. I migrate toward it and its frog sits on my lips and defecates.
Anne Sexton