Quote

I tied down time with a rope but it came back. Then I put my head in a death bowl and my eyes shut up like clams. They didn't come back.

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
Head
Like
Came
Eyes
Clams
Eye
Bowl
Death
Bowls
Didn
Rope
Back
Tied
Come
Shut

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Our children tremble in their teen-age cribs, whirling off on a thumb or a motorcycle.
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Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
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... man is eating the earth up like a candy bar.
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I, in my brand new body, which was not a woman's yet, told the stars my questions and thought God could really see the heat and the painted light, elbows, knees, dreams, goodnight.
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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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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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Let the light be called Day so that men may grow corn or take busses.
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To tell the truth days are all the same size and words aren't much company.
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All who love have lied.
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I was the girl of the chain letter, the girl full of talk of coffins and keyholes, the one of the telephone bills, the wrinkled photo and the lost connections.
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Let there be a heaven so that man may outlive his grasses.
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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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When the cow gives blood and the Christ is born we must all eat sacrifices. We must all eat beautiful women.
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I am younger each year at the first snow. When I see it, suddenly, in the air, all little and white and moving then I am in love again and very young and I believe everything.
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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 lay there silently, hoarding my small dignity. I did not ask about the gate or the closet. I did not question the bedtime ritual where, on the cold bathroom tiles, I was spread out daily and examined for flaws. I did not know that my bones, those solids, those pieces of sculpture would not splinter.
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For I could not read or speak and on the long nights I could not turn the moon off or count the lights of cars across the ceiling.
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Poems aren't postcards to send home.
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After a disaster strikes, it can be very devastating and very challenging. You're going to need a lot of strength and energy, and the American Red Cross suggests you go for the high protein items.
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Maybe, although my heart is a kitten of butter, I am blowing it up like a zeppelin.
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