Quote

It is in the small things we see it. The child's first step, as awesome as an earthquake. The first time you rode a bike, wallowing up the sidewalk.

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
Time
Courage
Wallowing
Steps
Rode
Small
Earthquake
Child
Sidewalk
Firsts
Earthquakes
First
Bike
Children
Awesome
Things
Step

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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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There is no word for time. Today we will not think to number another summer or watch its white bird into the ground.
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I grow old on my bitterness.
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One can't build little white picket fences to keep nightmares out.
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Don’t worry if they say you’re crazy. They said that about me and yet I was saner than all of them. I knew. No matter. You know. Insane or sane, you know. It’s a good thing to know - no matter what they call it.
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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.
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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 am alone here in my own mind. There is no map and there is no road. It is one of a kind just as yours is.
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But my future is a secret. / It is as shy as a mole.
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The trouble with therapy is that it makes life go backwards.
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The ground has on its clothes. The trees poke out of sheets and each branch wears the sock of God.
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God went out of me as if the sea dried up like sandpaper, as if the sun became a latrine. God went out of my fingers. They became stone. My body became a side of mutton and despair roamed the slaughterhouse.
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I'll Vacuum up my stale hair, I'll pay all my neighbors' bad debts, I'll write a poem called Yellow and put my lips down to drink it up.
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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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I try to take care and be gentle to them. Words and eggs must be handled with care. Once broken they are impossible things to repair.
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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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There is rust in my mouth,the stain of an old kiss.
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Of course the New Testament is very small. Its mouth opens four times as out-of-date as a prehistoric monster, yet somehow man-made.
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I imitatea memory of beliefthat I do not own.
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