Quote

Blind with love, my daughter has cried nightly for horses, those long-necked marchers and churners that she has mastered, any and all, reigning them in like a circus hand.

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
Long
Circus
Love
Horses
Like
Cried
Horse
Blind
Necked
Daughter
Reigning
Hand
Nightly
Hands
Mastered

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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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Let God be some tribal female who is known but forbidden.
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life is a trick, life is a kitten in a sack.
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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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There is a good look that I wear like a blood clot. I have sewn it over my left breast. I have made a vocation of it.
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It doesn't matter who my father was it matters who I remember he was.
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The grass as bristly and stout as chives and me wondering when the ground will break and me wondering how anything fragile survives
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you see, we live in a cold climate and are not permitted to kiss on the street so I made up a song that wasn't true. I made up a song called Marriage.
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But my future is a secret. / It is as shy as a mole.
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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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No matter whose bed you die in the bed will be yours for your voyage onto the surgical andiron of God.
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I see myself as one would see another. I have been cut in two.
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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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Big heart, wide as a watermelon, but wise as birth, there is so much abundance in the people I have.
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I like you your eyes are full of language. [Letter to Anne Clarke, July 3, 1964.]
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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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[I] have fantasies of killing myself and thus being the powerful one not the powerless one.
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The place I live in is a kind of maze and I keep seeking the exit or the home.
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God is only mocked by believers.
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Oh thumb, I want a drink it is dark, where are the big people, when will I get there...?
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