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this is no dream just my oily life where the people are alibis and the street is unfindable for an entire lifetime.

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
Lifetime
Entire
Loss
Streets
Dream
Life
Oily
People
Alibis
Street

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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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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the heart, this child of myself that resides in the flesh, this ultimate signature of the me, the start of my blindness and sleep, builds a death crèche.
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Craft is a trick you make up to let you write the poem.
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I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.
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It's all a matter of history. Brandy is no solace. Librium only lies me down like a dead snow queen. Yes! I am still the criminal.
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Maybe I am becoming a hermit, opening the door for only a few special animals? Maybe my skull is too crowded and it has no opening through which to feed it soup?
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Somebody who should have been born is gone.
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To love another is somethinglike prayer and it can't be planned, you just fallinto its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.
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think of innocent Icarus who is doing quite well: larger than a sail, over the fog and the blast of the plushy ocean, he goes. Admire his wings!
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the marriage twists, holds firm, a sailor's knot.
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I’m lost. And it’s my own fault. It’s about time I figured out that I can’t ask people to keep me found.
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The joy that isn't shared dies young.
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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 torn in two but I will conquer myself.
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Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
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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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Yet love enters my blood like an I.V., dripping in its little white moments.
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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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The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars. Oh starry starry night! This is how I want to die.
Anne Sexton
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The ground has on its clothes. The trees poke out of sheets and each branch wears the sock of God.
Anne Sexton