Yet love enters my blood like an I.V., dripping in its little white moments. — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
Now I am just an elderly lady who is full of spleen, who humps around greater Boston in a God-awful hat, who… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
I would sell my life to avoid the pain that begins in the crib with its bars or perhaps with your first… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
Every time I get happy the Nana-hex comes through. Birds turn into plumber's tools, a sonnet turns into a dirty joke, a… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
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 Its mouth opens four times as out-of-date as a prehistoric monster, yet somehow man-made. — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
There is no word for time. Today we will not think to number another summer or watch its white bird into the… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
I’m lost. And it’s my own fault. It’s about time I figured out that I can’t ask people to keep me found. — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
Once upon a time we were all born, popped out like jelly rolls forgetting our fishdom, the pleasuring seas, the country of… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
I could not see the spring. I could not hear the spring. I could not touch the spring. Once upon a time… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
The future is a fog that is still hanging out over the sea, a boat that floats home or does not. The… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
Those moments before a poem comes, when the heightened awareness comes over you, and you realize a poem is buried there somewhere,… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
“Courage It is in the small things we see it. The child's first step, as awesome as an earthquake. The first time… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
“To A Friend Whose Work Has Come To Triumph" Consider Icarus, pasting those sticky wintgs on, testing that strange little tug at… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
Today is made of yesterday, each time I steal toward rites I do not know, waiting for the lost ingredient, as if… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
Women tell time by the body. They are like clocks. They are always fastened to the earth, listening for its small animal… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
It is in the small things we see it. The child's first step, as awesome as an earthquake. The first time you… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
I tied down time with a rope but it came back. Then I put my head in a death bowl and my… — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
The future is a fog that is still hanging out over the sea, a boat that floats home or does not. — Anne Sexton Copy Share Image
“Live or die, but don't poison everything... Well, death's been here for a long time -- it has a hell of a… — 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
