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I cannot walk an inch / without trying to walk to God.

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
Walk
Walks
Cannot
Without
Trying
Inch
Inches
God

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The soul was not cured, it was as full as a clothes closet of dresses that did not fit.
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It would be pleasant to be drunk.
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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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Being kissed on the back of the knee is a moth at the windowscreen.
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If you meet a cross-eyed person you must plunge into the grass, alongside the chilly ants, fish through the green fingernails and come up with the four-leaf clover.
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I am out of practice at living. You are as brave as a motorcycle.
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Death's in the good-bye.
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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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Please God, we're all right here. Please leave us alone. Don't send death in his fat red suit and his ho-ho baritone.
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I’ll put it out there: I am scarred by the nostalgic indicipherability of my own desires I an engulfed by the intimidating unknown, pushed through darkness and dragged down by the irretrievable past sweetness of my memories.
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Take adultery or theft. Merely sins. It is evil who dines on the soul, stretching out its long bone tongue. It is evil who tweezers my heart, picking out its atomic worms.
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The day of fire is coming, the thrush will fly ablaze like a little sky rocket.
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She is so naked and singular. She is the sum of yourself and your dream. Climb her like a monument, step after step. She is solid.
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I must always forget how one word is able to pick out another, to manner another, until I have got something I might have said... but did not.
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When the cow gives blood and the Christ is born we must all eat sacrifices. We must all eat beautiful women.
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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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I am a collection of dismantled almosts.
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Thief!- how did you crawl into, crawl down alone into the death I wanted so badly and for so long.
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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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Today God gives milk / and I have the pail.
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