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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.

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
Play
Curse
Things
Radical
Awful
Criticism
Carpenter
Spring
Discontent
Inspirational
Clown
Order
Witch
Ideas
Nurse

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I wonder if the artist ever lives his life--he is so busy recreating it.
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Let the light be called Day so that men may grow corn or take busses.
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Once upon a time we were all born, popped out like jelly rolls forgetting our fishdom, the pleasuring seas, the country of comfort, spanked into the oxygens of death.
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In an old time there was a king as wise as a dictionary.
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I love you. You are closest to my heart, closer than any other human being. You are my extension. You are my prayer. You are my belief in God. For better or worse you inherit me.
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Jesus saw the multitudes were hungry and He said, Oh Lord, send down a short-order cook.
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My mouth blooms like a cut.
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I would sell my life to avoid the pain that begins in the crib with its bars or perhaps with your first breath when the planets drill your future into you.
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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.
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It was as if a morning-glory had bloomed in her throat, and all that blue and small pollen ate into my heart, violent and religious
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women are born twice.
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Yes I try to kill myself in small amounts, an innocuous occupation. Actually I'm hung up on it.
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Perhaps I am no one. True, I have a body and I cannot escape from it. I would like to fly out of my head, but that is out of the question.
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Now I am just an elderly lady who is full of spleen, who humps around greater Boston in a God-awful hat, who never lived and yet outlived her time, hating men and dogs and Democrats.
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God owns heaven but He craves the earth.
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Poets are sitting in my kitchen. Why do these poets lie? Why do children get children and Did you hear what it said?
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Take your foot out of the graveyard, they are busy being dead.
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Now, in my middle age, about nineteen in the head I'd say, I am rowing, I am rowing.
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Let there be seasons so that our tongues will be rich in asparagus and limes.
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Need is not quite belief.
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