The windows, the starving windows that drive the trees like nails into my heart. — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
There is an animal inside me, clutching fast to my heart, a huge crab. — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
the heart, this child of myself that resides in the flesh, this ultimate signature of the me, the start of my blindness… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
It is a dead heart. It is inside of me. It is a stranger yet once it was agreeable, opening and closing… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
Big heart, wide as a watermelon, but wise as birth, there is so much abundance in the people I have. — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
It was as if a morning-glory had bloomed in her throat, and all that blue and small pollen ate into my heart,… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
Take adultery or theft. Merely sins. It is evil who dines on the soul, stretching out its long bone tongue. It is… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
Watch out for intellect, because it knows so much it knows nothing and leaves you hanging upside down, mouthing knowledge as your… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
There is a good look that I wear like a blood clot. I have sewn it over my left breast. I have… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
I love you. You are closest to my heart, closer than any other human being. You are my extension. You are my… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
Do you like me?” No answer. Silence bounced, fell off his tongue and sat between us and clogged my throat. It slaughtered… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
I brush my hair, waiting in the pain machine for my bones to get hard, for the soft, soft bones that were… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
When someone kisses someone or flushes the toilet it is my other who sits in a ball and cries. My other beats… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
... and my love stays bitterly glowing, spasms of it will not sleep, and I am helpless and thirsty and need shade… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
Some women marry houses. It's another kind of skin; it has a heart, a mouth, a liver and bowel movements. — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
Maybe, although my heart is a kitten of butter, I am blowing it up like a zeppelin. — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
When I lie down to love, old dwarf heart shakes her head. Like an imbecile she was born old. — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
I will be steel! I will build a steel bridge over my need! I will build a bomb shelter over my heart!… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
Look to your heart that flutters in and out like a moth. God is not indifferent to your need. You have a… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
Images are probably the most important part of the poem. First of all you want to tell a story, but images are… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
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… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
I am crazy as hell, but I know it. And knowing it is a kind of sanity that makes the sickness worse. — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
And what of the dead? They lie without shoes in the stone boats. They are more like stone than the sea would be if… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
The Witch's Life" When I was a child there was an old woman in our neighborhood whom we called The Witch. All day she… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
I have forgiven all the old actors for dying. A new one comes on with the same lines, like large white growths, in his… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
“From the Garden” Come, my beloved, consider the lilies. We are of little faith. We talk too much. Put your mouthful of words away… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
Oh thumb, I want a drink it is dark, where are the big people, when will I get there...? — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
I want to kiss God on His nose and watch Him sneeze and so do you. Not out of disrespect. Out of pique. Out… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
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… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
Father, you died once, salted down at fifty-nine, packed down like a big snow angel, wasn't that enough? — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
Cinderella and the prince lived, they say, happily ever after, like two dolls in a museum case never bothered by diapers or dust, never… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
