I heard an airplane passing overhead. I wished I was on it.
Words bother me. I think it is why I am a poet. I keep trying to force myself to speak of the things that remain mute inside. My poems only come when I have almost lost the ability to utter a word. To speak, in a way, of the unspeakable. To make an object out of the chaos…To say what? a final cry into the void.
— Anne Sexton, from a letter to Dennis Farrell, August 2, 1963 (via litverve)