Meanwhile in my head, I'm undergoing open-heart surgery - Anne Sexton
624"I’m more honest in my poetry than to myself. That’s what I’m hunting for when I’m working away there in the poem. 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, every act there is another truth, a secret life." - Anne Sexton, from an interview
425"Let’s face it, I have been momentary." - Anne Sexton, from “for my lover, returning to his wife

(Source: victoriajoan)

965"You make me happy but that doesn’t mean I own any of you." - Anne Sexton in a letter to Anthony Hecht

(Source: erikaftw)



I’m reading all of Anne Sexton’s poems. So that’s how my life’s going.

4228"Oh, all right, I say,
I’ll save myself." - Anne Sexton, from “Letter Written on a Ferry While Crossing Long Island Sound,” from All My Pretty Ones 

(Source: lifeinpoetry)


Dear Linda,

I am in the middle of a flight to St. Louis to give a reading. I was reading a New Yorker story that made me think of my mother and all alone in the seat I whispered to her “I know, Mother, I know.” (Found a pen!) And I thought of you — someday flying somewhere all alone and me dead perhaps and you wishing to speak to me.

And I want to speak back. (Linda, maybe it won’t be flying, maybe it will be at your own kitchen table drinking tea some afternoon when you are 40. Anytime.) — I want to say back.

1st, I love you.

2. You never let me down.

3. I know. I was there once. I too, was 40 and with a dead mother who I needed still.

This is my message to the 40-year-old Linda. No matter what happens you were always my bobolink, my special Linda Gray. Life is not easy. It is awfully lonely. I know that. Now you too know it — wherever you are, Linda, talking to me. But I’ve had a good life — I wrote unhappy — but I lived to the hilt. You too, Linda — Live to the HILT! To the top. I love you, 40-year old Linda, and I love what you do, what you find, what you are! — Be your own woman. Belong to those you love. Talk to my poems, and talk to your heart — I’m in both: if you need me. I lied, Linda. I did love my mother and she loved me. She never held me but I miss her, so that I have to deny I ever loved her — or she me! Silly Anne! So there!



" - Anne Sexton, from a letter to her daughter, Linda Gray Sexton 

(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via arrowsofsensation)

180"He desires not the kiss.
He desires not the radio.
He desires not directions to Paris.
He desires to lie in his fragile doorway
scratching his back all day." - Anne Sexton, from Snail
188"There are dark stars in the cool evening and
you fondle them like killer birds’ beaks." - Anne Sexton, from Earthworm
1114"I saw you as you were." - Anne Sexton, from Christmas Eve
391"The heart burst with love and lost its breath." - Anne Sexton, from The Break
1068"…I thought the nightmares, the visions, the demons would go away if there was enough love to put them down." - Anne Sexton, from an interview
1517"I can describe it as a pain in the head, some central point, a wound which, somehow, had always been there — something slowly and steadily deforming all hope in me; something that forces me to cling to the past and cling and cling — I cling to the blood, I cling to my own ache, I cling to the past and it gets to a point when I can’t even remember without hurting. I do feed off it, do you understand? It’s not the disease anymore, Anne, it is me, I’m telling you it is me! I blindly follow it because I want to know it and it drives me inward, each time all the most inward, and yet I can only use abstract terms to refer to it and then I get mad at myself. Or I am mad. Probably both. Anne, I am not a loser and I am not weak and I have been battling this ever since I can remember myself. And every single time I try to describe it to someone I love, I only end up sounding like a self-centered asshole who is so damn arrogant in her pain. And then I cannot describe it — I fail, I always fail so forgive me […]" - Anne Sexton, from A Self-Portrait In Letters
230"I am flying like a single red rose,
leaving a jet stream
of solitude
and yet I feel nothing,
though I fly and hurl,
my insides are empty
and my face is as blank as a wall." - Anne Sexton, from Killing The Love
574"…I dream the love is swallowing itself." - Anne Sexton, from The Break Away
/ past