The little girl skipped by under the wrinkled oak leaves and held fast to a replica of herself. Anne Sexton More Quotes by Anne Sexton More Quotes From Anne Sexton I'm hunting for the truth. It might be a kind of poetic truth, and not just a factual one, because behind everything that happens to you, there is another truth, a secret life. Anne Sexton hunting secret might Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance. Anne Sexton moderation poet saint Poetry is my life, my postmark, my hands, my kitchen, my face. Anne Sexton kitchen faces hands I would like a simple life / yet all night I am laying / poems away in a long box. Anne Sexton simple night long I am younger each year at the first snow. When I see it, suddenly, in the air, all little and white and moving; Anne Sexton air believe moving Only my books anoint me, and a few friends, those who reach into my veins. Anne Sexton few-friends veins book I would like to bury Anne Sexton sand hate eye I am torn in two Anne Sexton conquer self two Sometimes the soul takes pictures of things it has wished for, but never seen. Anne Sexton soul sometimes We are America. Anne Sexton coffins united-states america I'm the crazy one who thinks that words reach people. Anne Sexton crazy people thinking Our eyes are full of terrible confessions. Anne Sexton confession terrible eye It's a little mad, but I believe I am many people. When I am writing a poem, I feel I am the person who should have written it. Anne Sexton self writing believe The summer has seized you, as when, last month in Amalfi, I saw lemons as large as your desk-side globe-that miniature map of the world-and I could mention, too, the market stalls of mushrooms and garlic bugs all engorged. Or I even think of the orchard next door, where the berries are done and the apples are beginning to swell. And once, with our first backyard,I remember I planted an acre of yellow beans we couldn't eat. Anne Sexton summer doors thinking Rocks crumble, make new forms, Anne Sexton ocean nature change Cinderella and the prince Anne Sexton marriage happiness museums I try to take care Anne Sexton impossible-things eggs broken Poems aren't postcards to send home. Anne Sexton postcards home The windows, the starving windows that drive the trees like nails into my heart. Anne Sexton nails heart tree Being kissed on the back of the knee is a moth at the windowscreen. Anne Sexton moths knees
