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 Poetry to me is prayer. Anne Sexton poetry prayer Earth, earthriding your merry-go-roundtoward extinction,right to the rootsthickening the oceans like gravy,festering in your caves,you are becoming a latrine. Anne Sexton caves ocean earth She is so naked and singular. She is the sum of yourself and your dream. Climb her like a monument, step after step. She is solid. Anne Sexton naked dream steps The snow has quietness in it; no songs, no smells, no shouts or traffic. When I speak my own voice shocks me. Anne Sexton smell voice song Writers are such phonies: they sometimes have wise insights but they don't live by them at all. That's what writers are like...you think they know something, but usually they are just messes. Anne Sexton wise sometimes thinking All I am is the trick of words writing themselves. Anne Sexton tricks writing A woman who writes feels too much. Anne Sexton too-much writing feels Though rain curses the window let the poem be made. Anne Sexton made rain window this is no dream Anne Sexton dream loss life I raise my pelvis to God Anne Sexton flower faith sex Images are the heart of poetry ... You're not a poet without imagery. Anne Sexton imagery poet heart I’ll put it out there: I am scarred by the nostalgic indicipherability of my own desires; I an engulfed by the intimidating unknown, pushed through darkness and dragged down by the irretrievable past sweetness of my memories. Anne Sexton darkness memories past 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. Anne Sexton oxygen silence heart Yes, I know. Anne Sexton carpe-diem keys taken Depression is boring, I think and I would do better to make some soup and light up the cave. Anne Sexton light depression thinking Suicide is, after all, the opposite of the poem. Anne Sexton suicide opposites God has a brown voice, as soft and full as beer. Anne Sexton voice humorous beer Yesterday I did not want to be borrowed but this is the typewriter that sits before me and love is where yesterday is at. Anne Sexton typewriters yesterday love-is Evil is maybe lying to God. Anne Sexton god evil lying Talk to me about sadness. I talk about it too much in my own head but I never mind others talking about it either; I occasionally feel like I tremendously need others to talk about it as well. Anne Sexton sadness mind talking
