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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
Graves
Fallen
Angel
Holy
Within
Pinch
Something
Whisper
Companion
Grave

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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.
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There is a good look that I wear like a blood clot. I have sewn it over my left breast. I have made a vocation of it.
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Home is my Bethlehem, my succoring shelter, my mental hospital, my wife, my dam, my husband, my sir, my womb, my skull.
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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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To die whole, riddled with nothing but desire for it, is like breakfast after love.
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Let the light be called Day so that men may grow corn or take busses.
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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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The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars. Oh starry starry night! This is how I want to die.
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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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Abundance is scooped from abundance yet abundance remains.
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The Saints come, as human as a mouth, with a bag of God in their backs, like a hunchback, they come, they come marching in.
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I remember the stink of the liverwurst. How I was put on a platter and laid between the mayonnaise and the bacon. The rhythm of the refrigerator had been disturbed.
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It would be pleasant to be drunk.
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Those moments before a poem comes, when the heightened awareness comes over you, and you realize a poem is buried there somewhere, you prepare yourself. I run around, you know, kind of skipping around the house, marvelous elation. It’s as though I could fly.
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Daisies in water are the longest lasting flower you can give to someone. Fact. Buy daisies. Not roses.
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Perhaps I am no one. True, I have a body and I cannot escape from it. I would like to fly out of my head, but that is out of the question.
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I imitatea memory of beliefthat I do not own.
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O starry night, This is how I want to die
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... man is eating the earth up like a candy bar.
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Death's in the good-bye.
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