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And what of the dead? They lie without shoes in the stone boats. They are more like stone than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone.
Anne Sexton
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Anne Sexton
Age: 45 †
Born: 1928
Born: November 9
Died: 1974
Died: October 4
Poet
Writer
Newton
Massachusetts
Anne Gray Harvey
Blessed
Boats
Sea
Throat
Dead
Stone
Lying
Stopped
Eye
Boat
Without
Refuse
Would
Stones
Like
Shoes
More quotes by Anne Sexton
Yesterday I did not want to be borrowed but this is the typewriter that sits before me and love is where yesterday is at.
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It is in the small things we see it. The child's first step, as awesome as an earthquake. The first time you rode a bike, wallowing up the sidewalk.
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My faith is a great weight hung on a small wire, as doth the spider hang her baby on a thin web.
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The place I live in is a kind of maze and I keep seeking the exit or the home.
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The day of fire is coming, the thrush will fly ablaze like a little sky rocket.
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God went out of me as if the sea dried up like sandpaper, as if the sun became a latrine. God went out of my fingers. They became stone. My body became a side of mutton and despair roamed the slaughterhouse.
Anne Sexton
It's all a matter of history. Brandy is no solace. Librium only lies me down like a dead snow queen. Yes! I am still the criminal.
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I did not know the woman I would be nor that blood would bloom in me each month like an exotic flower, nor that children, two monuments, would break from between my legs.
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Let there be seasons so that our tongues will be rich in asparagus and limes.
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There is a good look that I wear like a blood clot. I have sewn it over my left breast. I have made a vocation of it.
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Here in the hospital, I say,that is not my body, not my body.I am not here for the doctorsto read like a recipe.
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we do not explain my husband's insane abuse and we do not say why your wild-haired wife has fled or that my father opened like a walnut and then was dead. Your palms fold over me like knees. Love is the only use.
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I grow old on my bitterness.
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I think of myself as writing for one person, that one perfect reader who understands and loves.
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My husband sings Baa Baa black sheep and we pretend that all's certain and good, that the marriage won't end.
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I would sell my life to avoid the pain that begins in the crib with its bars or perhaps with your first breath when the planets drill your future into you.
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Yet love enters my blood like an I.V., dripping in its little white moments.
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It doesn't matter who my father was it matters who I remember he was.
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I am alone here in my own mind. There is no map and there is no road. It is one of a kind just as yours is.
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All I wanted was a little piece of life, to be married, to have children.... I was trying my damnedest to lead a conventional life, for that was how I was brought up, and it was what my husband wanted of me. But one can't build little white picket fences to keep the nightmares out.
Anne Sexton