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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.

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
Front
Became
Heavier
Feet
Nights
Days
Carried
Religion
Foot
Jesus
Forty
Night
God
Men
Fronts

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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I am not lazy. I am on the amphetamine of the soul. I am, each day, typing out the God my typewriter believes in.
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The stars are pears that no one can reach, even for a wedding. Perhaps for a death.
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What's missing is the eyeballs in each of us, but it doesn't matter because you've got the bucks, the bucks, the bucks.
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Be careful of words, / ... they can be both daisies and bruises.
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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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I brush my hair, waiting in the pain machine for my bones to get hard, for the soft, soft bones that were laid apart and were screwed together. They will knit. And the other corpse, the fractured heart, I feed it piecemeal, little chalice. I'm good to it.
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But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. Twice I have so simply declared myself, have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy, have taken on his craft, his magic.
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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.
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And we are magic talking to itself, noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins forgotten. Am I still lost? Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself
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I did not know the woman I would be nor that blood would bloom in me each month like an exotic flower, nor that children, two monuments, would break from between my legs.
Anne Sexton
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Put your mouthful of words away and come with me to watch the lilies open in such a field, growing there like yachts, slowly steering their petals without nurses or clocks.
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My business is words. Words are like labels, or coins, or better, like swarming bees.
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It would be pleasant to be drunk.
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I am younger each year at the first snow.
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I see myself as one would see another. I have been cut in two.
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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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Oh thumb, I want a drink it is dark, where are the big people, when will I get there...?
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I grow old on my bitterness.
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In a dream you are never eighty.
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As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.
Anne Sexton