Anne Sexton Quotes
''“As it has been said:Anne Sexton
Love and a cough
cannot be concealed.
Even a small cough.
Even a small love.”''
''“Watch out for intellect,Anne Sexton, The Complete Poems
because it knows so much it knows nothing
and leaves you hanging upside down,
mouthing knowledge as your heart
falls out of your mouth.” ''
''“Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.” ''Anne Sexton
''“Anne, I dont want to live. . . . Now listen, life is lovely, but I Cant Live It. I cant even explain. I know how silly it sounds . . . but if you knew how it Felt. To be alive, yes, alive, but not be able to live it. Ay thats the rub. I am like a stone that lives . . . locked outside of all thats real. . . . Anne, do you know of such things, can you hear???? I wish, or think I wish, that I were dying of something for then I could be brave, but to be not dying, and yet . . . and yet to [be] behind a wall, watching everyone fit in where I cant, to talk behind a gray foggy wall, to live but to not reach or to reach wrong . . . to do it all wrong . . . believe me, (can you?) . . . whats wrong. I want to belong. Im like a jew who ends up in the wrong country. Im not a part. Im not a member. Im frozen.” ''Anne Sexton, Anne Sexton: A Self-Portrait in Letters
''“As for me, I am a watercolor.Anne Sexton
I wash off.” ''
''“I am stuffing your mouth with yourAnne Sexton, The Complete Poems
promises and watching
you vomit them out upon my face.” ''
''“Even so, I must admire your skill.Anne Sexton
You are so gracefully insane.” ''
''“I am alone here in my own mind.Anne Sexton
There is no map
and there is no road.
It is one of a kind
just as yours is.” ''
''“Live or die, but dont poison everything.” ''Anne Sexton
''“I like you; your eyes are full of language."Anne Sexton
[Letter to Anne Clarke, July 3, 1964.]” ''
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45 Mercy Street
In my dream,
drilling into the marrow
of my entire bone,
my real dream,
I'm walking up and down Beacon Hill
searching for a street sign -
namely MERCY STREET.
I try the Back Bay.
And yet I know the number.
45 Mercy Street.
I know the stained-glass window
of the foyer,
the three flights of the house
with its parquet floors.
I know the furniture and
mother, grandmother, great-grandmother,
I know the cupboard of Spode
the boat of ice, solid silver,
where the ...
The Black Art
A woman who writes feels too much,
those trances and portents!
As if cycles and children and islands
weren't enough; as if mourners and gossips
and vegetables were never enough.
She thinks she can warn the stars.
A writer is essentially a spy.
Dear love, I am that girl.