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Anne Sexton Quote

It is snowing and death bugs meas stubborn as insomnia.

Anne Sexton

It is snowing and death bugs meas stubborn as insomnia.

Tags: anne, insomnia, oh, poem, sexton, winter

Related Quotes

Every decision you make in life will stem from one of two options: love or fear. Choose love.

Ross Caligiuri

Every decision you make in life will stem from one of two options: love or fear. Choose love.

Tags: 7, agency, ailee, anne, ara, arrant, blear, bray, bretta, brielle

Cherish your existence, for memories become legacies and life can change in an instant.

Ross Caligiuri

Cherish your existence, for memories become legacies and life can change in an instant.

Tags: 7, agency, ailee, anne, ara, arrant, blear, bray, bretta, brielle

My dream is to create something so beautiful that it encourages people to present the best version of themselves to me everywhere I go.

Ross Caligiuri

My dream is to create something so beautiful that it encourages people to present the best version of themselves to me everywhere I go.

Tags: 7, agency, ailee, anne, ara, arrant, blear, bray, bretta, brielle

The question is very understandable, but no one has found a satisfactory answer to it so far. Yes, why do they make still more gigantic planes, still heavier bombs and, at the same time, prefabricated...

Anne Frank

The question is very understandable, but no one has found a satisfactory answer to it so far. Yes, why do they make still more gigantic planes, still heavier bombs and, at the same time, prefabricated...

Tags: anne, frank, inspirational, questions

Think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy.

Anne Frank

Think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy.

Tags: beauty, anne, frank, happy, forgiveness

Then, with a cheeky quirk of his brows, he leaned forward and murmured, Would it be improper of me to admit that I am inordinately flattered by your attention tothe details of my face?Anne snorted out...

Julia Quinn

Then, with a cheeky quirk of his brows, he leaned forward and murmured, Would it be improper of me to admit that I am inordinately flattered by your attention tothe details of my face?Anne snorted out...

Tags: anne, daniel, julia quinn

Oh, here we are at the bridge. I'm going to shut my eyes tight. I'm always afraid going over bridges. I can't help imagining that perhaps, just as we get to the middle, they'll crumple up like a jackk...

L.M. Montgomery

Oh, here we are at the bridge. I'm going to shut my eyes tight. I'm always afraid going over bridges. I can't help imagining that perhaps, just as we get to the middle, they'll crumple up like a jackk...

Tags: anne, bridges, fear, imagination

He said he loved me, she whispered.Daniel swallowed, and he had the strangest sensation, almost a premonition of what it must like to be a parent.Someday, God willing, he’d have a daughter, and that d...

Julia Quinn

He said he loved me, she whispered.Daniel swallowed, and he had the strangest sensation, almost a premonition of what it must like to be a parent.Someday, God willing, he’d have a daughter, and that d...

Tags: anne, daniel, julia quinn

Daniel chuckled. Whoever that poor girl was, he hoped his family was paying her well.And then, finally, she lifted her fingers from the keys as Daisy began her painful violin solo. He watched her exha...

Julia Quinn

Daniel chuckled. Whoever that poor girl was, he hoped his family was paying her well.And then, finally, she lifted her fingers from the keys as Daisy began her painful violin solo. He watched her exha...

Tags: anne, daniel, julia quinn

Tea? Daniel asked, signaling to the innkeeper.Please. Or anything that is hot. She pulled off her gloves, pausing to frown at a little hole that was growing at the tip of her right forefinger. That wo...

Julia Quinn

Tea? Daniel asked, signaling to the innkeeper.Please. Or anything that is hot. She pulled off her gloves, pausing to frown at a little hole that was growing at the tip of her right forefinger. That wo...

Tags: anne, daniel, julia quinn
About Anne Sexton

Anne Sexton (born Anne Gray Harvey; November 9, 1928 – October 4, 1974) was an American poet known for her highly personal, confessional verse. She won the Pulitzer Prize for poetry in 1967 for her book Live or Die. Her poetry details her long battle with bipolar disorder, suicidal tendencies, and intimate details from her private life, including relationships with her husband and children, whom it was later alleged she physically and sexually assaulted.