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You must be a poet, a lady of evil luck desiring to be what you are not, longing to be what you can only visit.

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
Luck
Poet
Poetry
Evil
Desire
Desiring
Must
Visit
Lady
Longing

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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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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Inside many of us is a small old man who wants to get out.
Anne Sexton
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Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
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O yellow eye, let me be sick with your heat, let me be feverish and frowning.
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It doesn't matter who my father was it matters who I remember he was.
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The beautiful feeling after writing a poem is on the whole better even than after sex, and that's saying a lot.
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And thus Snow White became the prince's bride. The wicked queen was invited to the wedding feast and when she arrived there were red-hot iron shoes, in the manner of red-hot roller skates, clamped upon her feet.
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There is hope. There is hope everywhere. Today God give milk and I have the pail.
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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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I love the word warm. It is almost unbearable-- so moist and breathlike.
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My mouth blooms like a cut.
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Come, my pretender, my fritter, my bubbler, my chicken biddy! Oh succulent one, it is but one turn in the road and I would be a cannibal!
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I can only sign over everything, the house, the dog, the ladders, the jewels, the soul, the family tree, the mailbox. Then I can sleep. Maybe.
Anne Sexton
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And within the house ashes are being stuffed into my marriage, fury is lapping the walls, dishes crack on the shelves, a strangler needs my throat, the daughter has ceased to eat anything.
Anne Sexton
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One can't build little white picket fences to keep nightmares out.
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All in all, I'd say, the world is strangling.
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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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We talked death with burned-up intensity, both of us drawn to it like moths to an electric light bulb. Sucking on it!
Anne Sexton
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Let the light be called Day so that men may grow corn or take busses.
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Jewels! Today each twig is important, each ring, each infection, each form is all that the gods must have meant.
Anne Sexton