Meanwhile in my head, I'm undergoing open-heart surgery. - Anne Sexton
334"You sense the way we belong." - Anne Sexton, from The Complete Poems
360"I was left
quite alone
using up the darkness." - Anne Sexton, from The Fury Of God’s Goodbye
325"I close my eyes and suck you in like a fire." - Anne Sexton, from Jesus Suckles
188"I hear my lungs fill and
as in an operation. But I have no one left to tell." - Anne Sexton, from Angel Of Beach Houses And Picnics
440"Your eyes are made of glass. They break. You are not brave." - Anne Sexton, from Angel Of Hope And Calendars
4040"Watch out for intellect,
because it knows so much it knows nothing
and leaves you hanging upside down,
mouthing knowledge as your heart
falls out of your mouth." - Anne Sexton, from The Complete Poems

(Source: theantidote)

Anne Sexton, reading out loud most intensely and passionately her own poem titled "Wanting To Die" (x)

174"You see the song is the life,
the life I can’t live." - Anne Sexton, from The Man Of Many Hearts
185"It is said that Anne Sexton kept living and writing as long as she could so as to make a path of violent voice for the ones yet to be who felt as she did. I think of her and I keep going, too.
Voice who calls to me, who says I should be brave and still be here. Voice of everything, you are my Literary Mother." - Dorothea Lasky, from Many Literary Mothers, A Violin Case, and a Woman on the Subway.

(Source: literarymiscellany)


Anonymous said: Have you read anything beautiful concerning suicide?

I’ve read Sexton. I’ve felt Sexton. It doesn’t get more brutally honest. It doesn’t get more complicated. It doesn’t get more simple. It doesn’t get more beautiful. She practically is Mrs. Suicide. She had it in her blood all along, she wrote to approach it; she wrote it to embody it even further. I believe she knew it too well. Others come to my mind as well but I don’t feel the need to name them. I keep associating Anne with the theme of suicide because I believe her entire writing craft circled around it but also the core of her being circled around it — she craved it, pursued it passionately, violently, I daresay, through her poems, dressed it up in her metaphors, stripped it naked and let it lie open and unmasked before her own eyes, expressed her fascination with it through keeping it manifestly real and personal; all in all I think she ultimately owned it in her small way, owned it in her extravagant way, owned it all the way in every single way and I love her for that. I love that she’s always the one, the one and only name that immediately comes to my mind when someone brings up the theme of suicide in literature. She just kept alive through writing her own death and re-writing her own death, over and over again. And it’s not vulgar. It’s raw. It’s real. It’s heartbreakingly confessional but most of all it reveal such a necessity on her part. A necessity to keep “knowing” it, then dismissing that “knowledge”, opening another dark door and diving in again; exploring it again, hunting for it at all cost, having the strength and courage to just consume her whole existence through experiencing it via her own language. Anne was a rude, unafraid, completely brilliant motherfucker but damn, she was “born to die” in her own sentences. And literally, she did so. But, as I said, the reality of it outlives the madness, outlives even the talent, the poetic work. You can just sense some sort of precious balance. The same thing which keeps her alive, kills her. It happens. And it’s contained in the bloody poems. And it’s perfect becaue it’s her. I just downright love the fact that in spite of the heaviness and triggering/controversial nature of the theme itself, this woman’s writing is not merely powerful and beautiful imo but also haunting in a way I’ll never be capable of explaining not even in my own head

2326"Your hand found mine.
Life rushed to my fingers like a blood clot." - Anne Sexton, from The Touch

(Source: lifeinpoetry)

3399"Oh, all right, I say,
I’ll save myself." - Anne Sexton, from Letter Written on a Ferry While Crossing Long Island Sound

(Source: lifeinpoetry, via requiemforthepast)

573"And we both wrote poems we couldn’t write
and cried together the whole long night
and fell in love with a delicate breath […]" - Anne Sexton, from December 4th
23283"It is June.
I am tired of being brave." - Anne Sexton, from The Truth The Dead Know
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