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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
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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
Sun
Mutton
Became
Slaughterhouses
Side
Dried
Went
Stone
Sides
Fingers
Body
Stones
Roamed
Like
Despair
Sandpaper
Sea
Slaughterhouse
More quotes by Anne Sexton
All considerations for these human remains! They must have an escort! They are classified!
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I am stuffing your mouth with your promises and watching you vomit them out upon my face.
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If you meet a cross-eyed person you must plunge into the grass, alongside the chilly ants, fish through the green fingernails and come up with the four-leaf clover.
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Fear / a motor, / pumps me around and around / until I fade slowly.
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At six I lived in a graveyard full of dolls, avoiding myself, my body, the suspect in its grotesque house.
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Need is not quite belief.
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... and my love stays bitterly glowing, spasms of it will not sleep, and I am helpless and thirsty and need shade but there is no one to cover me- not even God.
Anne Sexton
it was my first doll that water went into and water came out of much earlier it was the diaper I wore and the dirt thereof and my mother hating me for it
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The soul was not cured, it was as full as a clothes closet of dresses that did not fit.
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Psychiatry is a dirty mirror.
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Somebody who should have been born is gone.
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women are born twice.
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Yet love enters my blood like an I.V., dripping in its little white moments.
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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, there is another truth, a secret life.
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Though rain curses the window let the poem be made.
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I am younger each year at the first snow. When I see it, suddenly, in the air, all little and white and moving then I am in love again and very young and I believe everything.
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you see, we live in a cold climate and are not permitted to kiss on the street so I made up a song that wasn't true. I made up a song called Marriage.
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Then all this became history. Your hand found mine. Life rushed to my fingers like a blood clot. Oh, my carpenter, the fingers are rebuilt. They dance with yours.
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There is no word for time. Today we will not think to number another summer or watch its white bird into the ground.
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sorrow is easier than guilt.
Anne Sexton