Pain engraves a deeper memory. - Anne Sexton
But suicides have a special language.Like carpenters they want to know which tools.They never ask why build.Twice I have so simply declared myself,have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy,have taken on his craft, his magic. - Anne Sexton
Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance. - Anne Sexton
It is snowing and death bugs meas stubborn as insomnia. - Anne Sexton
Death, I need my little addiction to you. I need that tiny voice who, even as I rise from the sea, all woman, all there, says kill me, kill me. - Anne Sexton
Oh, darling, let your body in, let it tie you in, in comfort. - Anne Sexton
And what of the dead? They lie without shoesin the stone boats. They are more like stonethan the sea would be if it stopped. They refuseto be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone. - Anne Sexton
The grass as bristly and stout as chives and me wondering when the ground will break and me wondering how anything fragile survives - Anne Sexton
Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard. - Anne Sexton
We were fair game but we have kept out of the cesspool. We are strong. We are the good ones. Do not discover us for we lie together all in green like pond weeds. Hold me, my young dear, hold me. - Anne Sexton
Poetry led me by the hand out of madness. - Anne Sexton
Fee-fi-fo-fum -Now I'm borrowed.Now I'm numb. - Anne Sexton
I’d won the worldbut like aforsaken explorer,I’d lostmy map. - Anne Sexton
Live or die, but don't poison everything. - Anne Sexton
As it has been said:Love and a coughcannot be concealed.Even a small cough.Even a small love. - Anne Sexton
Some women marry houses. - Anne Sexton
Depression is boring, I thinkand I would do better to makesome soup and light up the cave. - Anne Sexton
Those moments before a poem comes, when the heightened awareness comes over you, and you realize a poem is buried there somewhere, you prepare yourself. I run around, you know, kind of skipping around the house, marvelous elation. It’s as though I could fly. - Anne Sexton
I like you; your eyes are full of language."[Letter to Anne Clarke, July 3, 1964.] - Anne Sexton