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O fallen angel, the companion within me, whisper something holy before you pinch me into the grave.

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
Fallen
Angel
Holy
Within
Pinch
Something
Whisper
Companion
Grave
Graves

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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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And if I tried to give you something else, something outside myself, you would not know that the worst of anyone can be, finally, an accident of hope
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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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Our checks are pale. Our wallets are invalids. Past due, past due, is what our bills are saying and yet we kiss in every corner, scuffing the dust and the cat. Love rises like bread as we go bust.
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After a disaster strikes, it can be very devastating and very challenging. You're going to need a lot of strength and energy, and the American Red Cross suggests you go for the high protein items.
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Everyone has left me except my muse, that good nurse. She stays in my hand, a mild white mouse.
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The man inside of woman ties a knot so that they will never again be separate.
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Nature is full of teeth that come in one by one, then decay, fall out.
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When they turn the sun on again I'll plant children under it, I'll light up my soul with a match and let it sing.
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this is no dream just my oily life where the people are alibis and the street is unfindable for an entire lifetime.
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God has a brown voice, as soft and full as beer.
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It would be pleasant to be drunk.
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