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Now, in my middle age, about nineteen in the head I'd say, I am rowing, I am rowing.

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
Age
Rowing
Nineteen
Mature
Aging
Head
Middle

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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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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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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Daylight is nobody's friend. God comes in like a landlord and flashes on his brassy lamp.
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Here in the hospital, I say,that is not my body, not my body.I am not here for the doctorsto read like a recipe.
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You lay, a small knuckle on my white bed lay, that fist like a snail, small and strong at my breast. Your lips are animals you are fed with love. At first, hunger is not wrong.
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Letters are false really - they are expressions of the way you wish you were instead of the way you are.
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Everyone has left me except my muse, that good nurse. She stays in my hand, a mild white mouse.
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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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Love? Be it man. Be it woman. It must be a wave you want to glide in on, give your body to it, give your laugh to it, give, when the gravelly sand takes you, your tears to the land. To love another is something like prayer and can't be planned, you just fall into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.
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We are America. We are the coffin fillers. We are the grocers of death. We pack them in crates like cauliflowers.
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The trouble with therapy is that it makes life go backwards.
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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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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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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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Being kissed on the back of the knee is a moth at the windowscreen.
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Today life opened inside me like an egg.
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I am out of practice at living. You are as brave as a motorcycle.
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This is what poems are: with mercy for the greedy, they are the tongue's wrangle, the world's pottage, the rat's star.
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Love your self's self where it lives.
Anne Sexton
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O fallen angel, the companion within me, whisper something holy before you pinch me into the grave.
Anne Sexton