Quote

Daisies in water are the longest lasting flower you can give to someone. Fact. Buy daisies. Not roses.

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
Someone
Longest
Give
Roses
Giving
Lasting
Rose
Flower
Water
Fact
Facts
Daisies

More quotes by Anne Sexton

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I am not lazy. I am on the amphetamine of the soul. I am, each day, typing out the God my typewriter believes in.
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Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself, Counting this row and that row of moccasins Waiting on the silent shelf.
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Oh sharp diamond, my mother! I could not count the cost of all your faces, your moods that present that I lost. Sweet girl, my deathbed, my jewel-fingered lady...
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Yes I try to kill myself in small amounts, an innocuous occupation. Actually I'm hung up on it.
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As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.
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It was as if a morning-glory had bloomed in her throat, and all that blue and small pollen ate into my heart, violent and religious
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Now I am going back And I have ripped my hand From your hand as I said I would And I have made it this far.
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My safe, safe psychosis is broken. It was hard. It was made of stone. It covered my face like a mask. But it has cracked.
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the marriage twists, holds firm, a sailor's knot.
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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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Not that it was beautiful, but that I found some order there.
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I burn the way money burns.
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You must be a poet, a lady of evil luck desiring to be what you are not, longing to be what you can only visit.
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being sixteen in the pants I died full of questions
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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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Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.
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It would be pleasant to be drunk.
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For I could not read or speak and on the long nights I could not turn the moon off or count the lights of cars across the ceiling.
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With this pen I take in hand my selves and with these dead disciples I will grapple. Though rain curses the window let the poem be made.
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Not that it was beautiful, but that, in the end, there was a certain sense of order there something worth learning in that narrow diary of my mind
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