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Once I was a couple. I was my own king and queen with cheese and bread and rosé on the rocks of Rockport.

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
Cheese
Queens
Bread
King
Kings
Rocks
Couple
Self
Queen

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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I find now, swallowing one teaspoon of pain, that it drops downward to the past where it mixes with last year’s cupful and downward into a decade’s quart and downward into a lifetime’s ocean. I alternate treading water and deadman’s float.
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My eyes, those sluts, those whores, would play no more.
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Craft is a trick you make up to let you write the poem.
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I will be steel! I will build a steel bridge over my need! I will build a bomb shelter over my heart! But my future is a secret. It is as shy as a mole.
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I have been cut in two.
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The future is a fog that is still hanging out over the sea, a boat that floats home or does not.
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The joy that isn't shared dies young.
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God went out of me as if the sea dried up like sandpaper, as if the sun became a latrine.
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bike downtown, stick out tongues at the Catholics. Or form a Piss Club where we all go in the bushes and peek at each other's sex.
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Dead drunk is the term I think of, insensible, neither cool nor warm, without a head or a foot. To be drunk is to be intimate with a fool.
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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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The family story tells, and it was told true, of my great-grandfather who begat eight genius children and bought twelve almost new grand pianos. He left a considerable estate when he died.
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The windows, the starving windows that drive the trees like nails into my heart.
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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 am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.
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I love the word warm. It is almost unbearable-- so moist and breathlike.
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But even in a telephone booth evil can seep out of the receiver and we must cover it with a mattress, and then tear it from its roots and bury it, bury it.
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The sanest thing in this world is love.
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O yellow eye, let me be sick with your heat, let me be feverish and frowning.
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You cutting the lawn, fixing the machines, all this leprous day and then more vodka, more soda and the pond forgiving our bodies, the pond sucking out the throb.
Anne Sexton