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Our checks are pale. Our wallets are invalids. Past due, past due, is what our bills are saying and yet we kiss in every corner, scuffing the dust and the cat. Love rises like bread as we go bust.
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
Like
Dust
Pale
Bills
Corner
Bread
Checks
Kissing
Dues
Saying
Kiss
Invalids
Past
Corners
Bust
Every
Cat
Wallets
Love
Affection
Rises
More quotes by Anne Sexton
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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Depression is boring, I think and I would do better to make some soup and light up the cave.
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I am younger each year at the first snow.
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To die whole, riddled with nothing but desire for it, is like breakfast after love.
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The windows, the starving windows that drive the trees like nails into my heart.
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Be careful of words, / ... they can be both daisies and bruises.
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It doesn't matter who my father was it matters who I remember he was.
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I wonder if the artist ever lives his life--he is so busy recreating it.
Anne Sexton
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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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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If you meet a cross-eyed person you must plunge into the grass, alongside the chilly ants, fish through the green fingernails and come up with the four-leaf clover.
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I sit at my desk each night with no place to go, opening the wrinkled maps of Milwaukee and Buffalo, the whole U.S., its cemeteries, its arbitrary time zones, through routes like small veins, capitals like small stones.
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You must be a poet, a lady of evil luck desiring to be what you are not, longing to be what you can only visit.
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But my future is a secret. / It is as shy as a mole.
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Suicide is, after all, the opposite of the poem.
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Earth, earthriding your merry-go-roundtoward extinction,right to the rootsthickening the oceans like gravy,festering in your caves,you are becoming a latrine.
Anne Sexton
Everyone in me is a bird I am beating all my wings
Anne Sexton
To tell the truth days are all the same size and words aren't much company.
Anne Sexton
I think it will be a miracle if I don't someday end up killing myself.
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My business is words. Words are like labels, or coins, or better, like swarming bees.
Anne Sexton