Quote

The sky breaks. It sags and breathes upon my face. in the presence of mine enemies, mine enemies The world is full of enemies. There is no safe place.

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
Face
Breathe
Faces
Sky
Upon
Mines
Place
Mine
World
Safe
Breathes
Full
Breaks
Enemy
Enemies
Break
Presence

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Come, my pretender, my fritter, my bubbler, my chicken biddy! Oh succulent one, it is but one turn in the road and I would be a cannibal!
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Writers are such phonies: they sometimes have wise insights but they don't live by them at all. That's what writers are like...you think they know something, but usually they are just messes.
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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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I am teaching... This year it's kind of like having a love affair with a rhinoceros.
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I said, the poets are there I hear them singing and lying around their round table and around me still.
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I am torn in two but I will conquer myself.
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Now, in my middle age, about nineteen in the head I'd say, I am rowing, I am rowing.
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As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.
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Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.
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At six I lived in a graveyard full of dolls, avoiding myself, my body, the suspect in its grotesque house.
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But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. Twice I have so simply declared myself, have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy, have taken on his craft, his magic.
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Despite my asbestos gloves, the cough is filling me with black, and a red powder seeps through my veins.
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Bless all useful objects, the spoons made of bone, the mattress I cook my dreams upon, the typewriter that is my church with an altar of keys always waiting.
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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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Rats live on no evil star
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The sanest thing in this world is love.
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God has a brown voice, as soft and full as beer.
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I rot on the wall, my own Dorian Gray.
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Poetry is my life, my postmark, my hands, my kitchen, my face.
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Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
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