Best 305 quotes of Anne Sexton on MyQuotes

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.

All considerations for these human remains! They must have an escort! They are classified!

All day I've built a lifetime and now the sun sinks to undo it.

All in all, I'd say, the world is strangling.

All the oxygen of the world was in them. All the feet of the babies of the world were in them. All the crotches of the angels of the world were in them. All the morning kisses of Philadelphia were in them.

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

... and my love stays bitterly glowing, spasms of it will not sleep, and I am helpless and thirsty and need shade but there is no one to cover me- not even God.

And thus Snow White became the prince's bride. The wicked queen was invited to the wedding feast and when she arrived there were red-hot iron shoes, in the manner of red-hot roller skates, clamped upon her feet.

And tonight our skin, our bones, that have survived our fathers, will meet, delicate in the hold, fastened together in an intricate lock. Then one of us will shout, "My need is more desperate!" and I will eat you slowly with kisses even though the killer in you has gotten out.

And we are magic talking to itself, noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins forgotten. Am I still lost? Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself

And what of the dead? They lie without shoes in the stone boats. They are more like stone than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone.

And within the house ashes are being stuffed into my marriage, fury is lapping the walls, dishes crack on the shelves, a strangler needs my throat, the daughter has ceased to eat anything.

... a starving man doesn't ask what the meal is.

At six I lived in a graveyard full of dolls, avoiding myself, my body, the suspect in its grotesque house.

A woman / who loves a woman / is forever young.

being sixteen in the pants I died full of questions

Big heart, wide as a watermelon, but wise as birth, there is so much abundance in the people I have.

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.

Bless all useful objects, the spoons made of bone, the mattress I cook my dreams upon, the typewriter that is my church with an altar of keys always waiting.

Blind with love, my daughter has cried nightly for horses, those long-necked marchers and churners that she has mastered, any and all, reigning them in like a circus hand.

Blue eyes wash off sometimes.

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, bury it.

But my future is a secret. / It is as shy as a mole.

But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. Twice I have so simply declared myself, have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy, have taken on his craft, his magic.

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.

Come, my pretender, my fritter, my bubbler, my chicken biddy! Oh succulent one, it is but one turn in the road and I would be a cannibal!

Craft is a trick you make up to let you write the poem.

Daisies in water are the longest lasting flower you can give to someone. Fact. Buy daisies. Not roses.

Daylight is nobody's friend. God comes in like a landlord and flashes on his brassy lamp.

Dead drunk is the term I think of, insensible, neither cool nor warm, without a head or a foot. To be drunk is to be intimate with a fool.

Death's in the good-bye.

Depression is boring, I think and I would do better to make some soup and light up the cave.

Despite my asbestos gloves, the cough is filling me with black, and a red powder seeps through my veins.

Don’t worry if they say you’re crazy. They said that about me and yet I was saner than all of them. I knew. No matter. You know. Insane or sane, you know. It’s a good thing to know - no matter what they call it.

Do you like me?” No answer. Silence bounced, fell off his tongue and sat between us and clogged my throat. It slaughtered my trust. It tore cigarettes out of my mouth. We exchanged blind words, and I did not cry, I did not beg, but blackness filled my ears, blackness lunged in my heart, and something that had been good, a sort of kindly oxygen, turned into a gas oven.

Earth, earthriding your merry-go-roundtoward extinction,right to the rootsthickening the oceans like gravy,festering in your caves,you are becoming a latrine.

Emerald as heavy as a golf course, ruby as dark as an afterbirth, diamond as white as sun on the sea.

Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.

Even without wars, life is dangerous.

Everyone has left me except my muse, that good nurse. She stays in my hand, a mild white mouse.

Every time I get happy the Nana-hex comes through. Birds turn into plumber's tools, a sonnet turns into a dirty joke, a wind turns into a tracheotomy, a boat turns into a corpse.

Evil is maybe lying to God. Or better, lying to love.

Father, you died once, salted down at fifty-nine, packed down like a big snow angel, wasn't that enough?

Fear / a motor, / pumps me around and around / until I fade slowly.

For forty days, for forty nights Jesus put one foot in front of the other and the man he carried, if it was a man, became heavier and heavier.

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.

Frog has no nerves. Frog is as old as a cockroach. Frog is my father's genitals. Frog is a malformed doorknob. Frog is a soft bag of green.

Give me your skin as sheer as a cobweb, let me open it up and listen in and scoop out the dark.

God has a brown voice, as soft and full as beer.

God owns heaven but He craves the earth.