Who is Anne Sexton ?
Anne Sexton once told a journalist that her fans thought she got better, but actually, she just became a poet. These words are characteristic of a talented poet that received therapy for years, but committed suicide in spite of this. The poetry fed her art, but it also imprisoned her in a way.
Let this list of 12 quotations by the American poet Anne Sexton lead you to an inspirational day. Recharge yourself with motivational female, wins, sucks sayings, and satisfy your hunger for a better life.
What are the best Anne Sexton quotes?
We've made this hand-picked collection of quotes to show you what is Anne Sexton truly willing to say and leave for generations. Whether an inspirational quote or a motivational message about giving your best, we can all benefit from the wisdom, captured within these words.
The joy that isn't shared dies young.
I am not immortal. Faustus and I are the also-ran.
God owns heaven but He craves the earth.
As it has been said:
Love and a cough
cannot be concealed.
Even a small cough.
Even a small love.
It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was.
Try the Top 10 quotes and images by Anne Sexton
O yellow eye,let me be sick with your heat,let me be feverish and frowning.
Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.
The sea is mother-death and she is a mighty female, the one who wins, the one who sucks us all up.
Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance.
sorrow is easier than guilt.
My death from the wrists, two name tags, blood worn like a corsage to bloom one on the left and one on the right.
you died once,
salted down at fifty-nine,
packed down like a big snow angel,
wasn't that enough?
About Anne Sexton
|Quotes ||12 sayings|
|Birthday ||October 16|
Daisies in water are the longest lasting
flower you can give to someone.
I want a drink
it is dark,
where are the big people,
when will I get there...?
Watch out for love
(unless it is true,
and every part of you says yes including the toes),
it will wrap you up like a mummy,
and your scream won't be heard
and none of your running will run.
...became a woman who learned her own skin and dug into her soul and found it full.
Once I was a couple. I was my own king and queen
with cheese and bread and rosé on the rocks of Rockport.
Inside many of us
is a small old man
who wants to get out.
Poetry to me is prayer.
It is in the small things we see it.
The child's first step,
as awesome as an earthquake.
The first time you rode a bike,
wallowing up the sidewalk.
Put your mouthful of words away and come with me to watch the lilies open in such a field, growing there like yachts, slowly steering their petals without nurses or clocks.
There once was a miller with a daughter as lovely as a grape.
He told the king that she could spin gold out of common straw. The king summoned the girl and locked her in a room full of straw and told her to spin it into gold or she would die like a criminal. Poor grape with no one to pick. Luscious and round and sleek. Poor thing. To die and never see Brooklyn. (Rumpelstiltskin)
As a writer one has to take the chance on being a fool.
She suffers according to the digits of my hate.
I hear the filaments of alabaster. I would lie down with them and lift my madness off like a wig. I would lie outside in a room of wool and let the snow cover me. Paris white or flake white or argentine, all in the washbasin of my mouth, calling “Oh.” I am empty. I am witless. Death is here. There is no other settlement.
But even in a telephone booth
evil can seep out of the receiver
and we must cover it with a mattress,
and then tear it from its roots
and bury it,
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...
Poems aren't postcards to send home.
I, in my brand new body,
which was not a woman's yet,
told the stars my questions
and thought God could really see
the heat and the painted light,
elbows, knees, dreams, goodnight.
bike downtown, stick out tongues at the Catholics.
Or form a Piss Club where we all go
in the bushes and peek at each other's sex.
Then God spoke to me and said:
People say only good things about Christmas.
If they want to say something bad,
There is joy
in the hair I brush each morning,
in the Cannon towel, newly washed,
that I rub my body with each morning.
It's all a matter of history.
Brandy is no solace.
Librium only lies me down
like a dead snow queen.
Yes! I am still the criminal.
Today God gives milk / and I have the pail.
I've grown tired of love
You are the trouble with me
I watch you walk right by
When I lie down to love,
old dwarf heart shakes her head.
Like an imbecile she was born old.
When I'm writing, I know I'm doing the thing I was born to do.
[I] have fantasies of killing myself and thus being the powerful one not the powerless one.
I love the word warm.
It is almost unbearable--
so moist and breathlike.
I tell it stories now and then
and feed it images like honey.
I will not speculate today
with poems that think they're money.
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.
I like you; your eyes are full of language." [Letter to Anne Clarke, July 3, 1964.]
Everyone has left me
except my muse,
that good nurse.
She stays in my hand,
a mild white mouse.
I think it will be a miracle if I don't someday end up killing myself.
This is what poems are:
for the greedy,
they are the tongue's wrangle,
the world's pottage, the rat's star.
you see, we live in a cold climate
and are not permitted to kiss on the street
so I made up a song that wasn't true.
I made up a song called Marriage.
Fear / a motor, / pumps me around and around / until I fade slowly.
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.
It is a dead heart.
It is inside of me.
It is a stranger
yet once it was agreeable,
opening and closing like a clam.
I am out of practice at living.
You are as brave as a motorcycle.
Now, in my middle age,
about nineteen in the head I'd say,
I am rowing, I am rowing.