Quotes About Anne Sexton

I am tearing the feathers out of the pillows, waiting, waiting for Daddy to come home and stuff me so full of our infected child that I turn invisible, but married, at last.

I love Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton. I also love more cerebral poets like H.D. and Emily Dickinson. My parents subscribed to a monthly poetry periodical, and as a teenager I was introduced to Denise Levertov, who was an influence.

The speed with which Anne Sexton found acceptance within the cadre of the literary elite was indeed remarkable, but it belied the work required.

Beauty is a simple passion,but, oh my friends, in the endyou will dance the fire dance in iron shoes.

That's what I do: I make coffee and occasionally succumb to suicidal nihilism. But you shouldn't worry — poetry is still first. Cigarettes and alcohol follow

The soul was not cured, it was as full as a clothes closet of dresses that did not fit.

I should be working and not writing you. But this is a missing you, where are you, hello and necessary for my soul.

The windows, the starving windows that drive the trees like nails into my heart.

I tell you what you'll never really know: all the medical hypothesis that explained my brain will never be as true as these struck leaves letting go.

You say I resemble a flower; I partly agree; My brain is governed by black petals of burnt daisies

I am unbalanced — but I am not mad with snow. I am mad the way young girls are mad, with an offering, an offering… I burn the way money burns.

And then I knew that the voice of the spirits had been let in-- as intense as an epileptic aura-- and that no longer would I sing alone.

It is snowing and death bugs me as stubborn as insomnia.

Oh, darling, let your body in, let it tie you in, in comfort.

Fee-fi-fo-fum, now I'm borrowed, now I'm numb.

So I won't hang around in my hospital shift, repeating The Black Mass and all of it. I say Live, Live because of the sun, the dream, the excitable gift.

A woman like that is misunderstood. I have been her kind.

Next I dream the love is swallowing itself. Next I dream the love is made of glass," — Anne Sexton, from "The Break Away," The Complete Poems . (Mariner Books; First Mariner Books Edition (April 28, 1999) Originally published September 30th 1981.

Yes. It is the witch's life, climbing the primordial climb, a dream within a dream, then sitting here holding a basket of fire.

Well, death's been here for a long time -- it has a hell of a lot to do with hell and suspicion of the eye and the religious objects and how I mourned them when they were made obscene by my dwarf-heart's doodle.

I wear silk — the cover to uncover — because silk is what I want you to think of. But I dislike the cloth. It is too stern

If this is hell, then hell could not be much, neither as special nor as ugly as I was told.

it was a moment to clutch at for a moment so that you may believe in it and believing is the act of love, I think

So I won't hang around in my hospital shift, repeating The Black Mass and all of it. I say Live, Live because of the sun, the dream, the excitable gift.