Quote

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.

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
Evil
Bone
Soul
Picking
Take
Worms
Dines
Heart
Sins
Dine
Long
Bones
Atomic
Tongue
Adultery
Merely
Theft
Sin
Stretching

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I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.
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There is joy in all: in the hair I brush each morning, in the Cannon towel, newly washed, that I rub my body with each morning.
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I tell it stories now and then and feed it images like honey. I will not speculate today with poems that think they're money.
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Depression is boring, I think and I would do better to make some soup and light up the cave.
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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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As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.
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Inside many of us is a small old man who wants to get out.
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I brush my hair, waiting in the pain machine for my bones to get hard, for the soft, soft bones that were laid apart and were screwed together. They will knit. And the other corpse, the fractured heart, I feed it piecemeal, little chalice. I'm good to it.
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But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. Twice I have so simply declared myself, have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy, have taken on his craft, his magic.
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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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O fallen angel, the companion within me, whisper something holy before you pinch me into the grave.
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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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They [daisies] are my favorite flower. There is something innocent and vulnerable about them as if they thanked you for admiring them.
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the marriage twists, holds firm, a sailor's knot.
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God is only mocked by believers.
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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.
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I grow old on my bitterness.
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The little girl skipped by under the wrinkled oak leaves and held fast to a replica of herself.
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The Saints come, as human as a mouth, with a bag of God in their backs, like a hunchback, they come, they come marching in.
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My safe, safe psychosis is broken. It was hard. It was made of stone. It covered my face like a mask. But it has cracked.
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