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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.
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
History
Carpenter
Found
Fingers
Hands
Mines
Life
Mine
Like
Dance
Became
Clot
Blood
Rebuilt
Hand
Rushed
More quotes by Anne Sexton
Poets are sitting in my kitchen. Why do these poets lie? Why do children get children and Did you hear what it said?
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Our children tremble in their teen-age cribs, whirling off on a thumb or a motorcycle.
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Please God, we're all right here. Please leave us alone. Don't send death in his fat red suit and his ho-ho baritone.
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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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The man inside of woman ties a knot so that they will never again be separate.
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Of course the New Testament is very small. Its mouth opens four times as out-of-date as a prehistoric monster, yet somehow man-made.
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God is only mocked by believers.
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Even without wars, life is dangerous.
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The day of fire is coming, the thrush will fly ablaze like a little sky rocket.
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O yellow eye, let me be sick with your heat, let me be feverish and frowning.
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Once I was a couple. I was my own king and queen with cheese and bread and rosé on the rocks of Rockport.
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Somebody who should have been born is gone. Yes, woman, such logic will lead to loss without death. Or say what you meant, you coward . . . this baby that I bleed.
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Love? Be it man. Be it woman. It must be a wave you want to glide in on, give your body to it, give your laugh to it, give, when the gravelly sand takes you, your tears to the land. To love another is something like prayer and can't be planned, you just fall into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.
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What's missing is the eyeballs in each of us, but it doesn't matter because you've got the bucks, the bucks, the bucks.
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My mouth blooms like a cut.
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Mood can be as important as sense.
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Take adultery or theft. Merely sins. It is evil who dines on the soul, stretching out its long bone tongue. It is evil who tweezers my heart, picking out its atomic worms.
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Today life opened inside me like an egg.
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Now, in my middle age, about nineteen in the head I'd say, I am rowing, I am rowing.
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Suddenly I'm not half the girl I used to be. There's a shadow hanging over me . . . From me to you out of my electric devil.
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