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In an old time there was a king as wise as a dictionary.

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
Royalty
Dictionary
King
Kings
Wise
Wisdom
Time

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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I am stuffing your mouth with your promises and watching you vomit them out upon my face.
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I am a collection of dismantled almosts.
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Our children tremble in their teen-age cribs, whirling off on a thumb or a motorcycle.
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For I could not read or speak and on the long nights I could not turn the moon off or count the lights of cars across the ceiling.
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Need is not quite belief.
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And if I tried to give you something else, something outside myself, you would not know that the worst of anyone can be, finally, an accident of hope
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Big heart, wide as a watermelon, but wise as birth, there is so much abundance in the people I have.
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I am your dwarf. I am the enemy within. I am the boss of your dreams. See. Your hand shakes. It is not palsy or booze. It is your Doppelganger trying to get out. Beware...Beware...
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One of my secret instructions to myself as a poet is Whatever you do, don't be boring.
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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 must be a poet, a lady of evil luck desiring to be what you are not, longing to be what you can only visit.
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Only my books anoint me, and a few friends, those who reach into my veins.
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Thumbs grow into my throat. I wear slaps like a spot of rouge.
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Not that it was beautiful, but that I found some order there.
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Home is my Bethlehem, my succoring shelter, my mental hospital, my wife, my dam, my husband, my sir, my womb, my skull.
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it was my first doll that water went into and water came out of much earlier it was the diaper I wore and the dirt thereof and my mother hating me for it
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Earth, earthriding your merry-go-roundtoward extinction,right to the rootsthickening the oceans like gravy,festering in your caves,you are becoming a latrine.
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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.
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I am tearing the feathers out of the pillows, waiting, waiting for Daddy to come home and stuff me so full of our infected child that I turn invisible, but married, at last.
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My faith is a great weight hung on a small wire, as doth the spider hang her baby on a thin web.
Anne Sexton