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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...

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
Girl
Diamond
Lost
Lady
Mother
Count
Fingered
Mood
Deathbed
Cost
Jewel
Sweet
Moods
Present
Jewels
Faces
Sharp

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Be careful of words, / ... they can be both daisies and bruises.
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Cinderella and the prince lived, they say, happily ever after, like two dolls in a museum case never bothered by diapers or dust, never arguing over the timing of an egg, never telling the same story twice.
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I’ll put it out there: I am scarred by the nostalgic indicipherability of my own desires I an engulfed by the intimidating unknown, pushed through darkness and dragged down by the irretrievable past sweetness of my memories.
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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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My business is words. Words are like labels, or coins, or better, like swarming bees.
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But my future is a secret. / It is as shy as a mole.
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I grow old on my bitterness.
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Need is not quite belief.
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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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Of course the New Testament is very small. Its mouth opens four times as out-of-date as a prehistoric monster, yet somehow man-made.
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I am younger each year at the first snow. When I see it, suddenly, in the air, all little and white and moving then I am in love again and very young and I believe everything.
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As a writer one has to take the chance on being a fool.
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Big heart, wide as a watermelon, but wise as birth, there is so much abundance in the people I have.
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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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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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