Quote

I can only sign over everything, the house, the dog, the ladders, the jewels, the soul, the family tree, the mailbox. Then I can sleep. Maybe.

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
Maybe
Mailbox
Family
Mailboxes
House
Ladders
Soul
Jewels
Everything
Sign
Dog
Tree
Sleep

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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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.
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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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Poetry is my life, my postmark, my hands, my kitchen, my face.
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Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance.
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I would like to think that no one would die anymore if we all believed in daisies but the worms know better, don't they? They slide into the ear of a corpse and listen to his great sigh.
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When I lie down to love, old dwarf heart shakes her head. Like an imbecile she was born old.
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It is a dead heart. It is inside of me. It is a stranger yet once it was agreeable, opening and closing like a clam.
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Let the light be called Day so that men may grow corn or take busses.
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Fear / a motor, / pumps me around and around / until I fade slowly.
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O yellow eye, let me be sick with your heat, let me be feverish and frowning.
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The stars are pears that no one can reach, even for a wedding. Perhaps for a death.
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My death from the wrists, two name tags, blood worn like a corsage to bloom one on the left and one on the right.
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I would sell my life to avoid the pain that begins in the crib with its bars or perhaps with your first breath when the planets drill your future into you.
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Images are probably the most important part of the poem. First of all you want to tell a story, but images are what are going to shore it up and get to the heart of the matter.
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I was spread out dailyand examined for flaws.
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All considerations for these human remains! They must have an escort! They are classified!
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Everyone in me is a bird I am beating all my wings
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The body is a damn hard thing to kill.
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I am your dwarf. I am the enemy within. I am the boss of your dreams. See. Your hand shakes. It is not palsy or booze. It is your Doppelganger trying to get out. Beware...Beware...
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I leave you, home, when I'm ripped from the doorstep by commerce or fate. Then I submit to the awful subway of the world.
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