627 Quotes by Anne Sexton

I was only sitting here in my white study with the awful black words pushing me around.

Thumbs grow into my throat. I wear slaps like a spot of rouge.

Poetry, after all, milks the unconscious.

Letters are false really – they are expressions of the way you wish you were instead of the way you are...

Surely all who are locked in boxes of different sizes should have their hands held.

And within the house ashes are being stuffed into my marriage, fury is lapping the walls, dishes crack on the shelves, a strangler needs my throat, the daughter has ceased to eat anything...

Our children tremble in their teen-age cribs, whirling off on a thumb or a motorcycle...

I said, the poets are there I hear them singing and lying around their round table and around me still.

If you have endured a great despair, then, you did it alone.