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The silence is death. It comes each day with its shock to sit on my shoulder, a white bird, and peck at the black eyes and the vibrating red muscle of my mouth.
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
Silence
Shoulder
Eyes
Muscles
Eye
Shock
White
Shoulders
Black
Red
Comes
Mouth
Peck
Death
Mouths
Vibrating
Bird
Muscle
More quotes by Anne Sexton
The fish are naked. The fish are always awake. They are the color of old spoons and caramels.
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What's the point of fighting the dollars when all you need is a warm bed? When the dog barks you let him in. All we need is someone to let us in. And one other thing: to consider the lilies in the field.
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The snow has quietness in it no songs, no smells, no shouts or traffic. When I speak my own voice shocks me.
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The beautiful feeling after writing a poem is on the whole better even than after sex, and that's saying a lot.
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In a letter (no matter how quickly it is written or honestly or freely or lovingly) it is more possible to be loving and lovable, more possible to reach out and to take in ... I feel I have somehow deceived you into thinking this is really a human relationship. It is a letter relationship between humans.
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Death, I need my little addiction to you. I need that tiny voice who, even as I rise from the sea, all woman, all there, says kill me, kill me.
Anne Sexton
Suddenly I'm not half the girl I used to be. There's a shadow hanging over me . . . From me to you out of my electric devil.
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Home is my Bethlehem, my succoring shelter, my mental hospital, my wife, my dam, my husband, my sir, my womb, my skull.
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To die whole, riddled with nothing but desire for it, is like breakfast after love.
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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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What a lay me down this is with two pink, two orange, two green, two white goodnights.
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You who have inhabited me in the deepest and most broken place, are going, going
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I am in my own mind. I am locked in the wrong house.
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Women tell time by the body. They are like clocks. They are always fastened to the earth, listening for its small animal noises.
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I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.
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I must always forget how one word is able to pick out another, to manner another, until I have got something I might have said... but did not.
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Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
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In a dream you are never eighty.
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God is only mocked by believers.
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unless I can shake myself free of my dog, my flag, of my desk, my mind, I find life a bit of a drag. Not always, mind you. Usually I'm like my frying pan useful, graceful, sturdy and with no caper, no plan.
Anne Sexton
