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You lay, a small knuckle on my white bed lay, that fist like a snail, small and strong at my breast. Your lips are animals you are fed with love. At first, hunger is not wrong.
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
White
Hunger
Knuckles
Strong
Bed
Snail
Firsts
Lips
Fist
First
Animals
Fists
Love
Parent
Breast
Like
Animal
Feds
Small
Breasts
Wrong
Lays
Knuckle
More quotes by Anne Sexton
Once upon a time we were all born, popped out like jelly rolls forgetting our fishdom, the pleasuring seas, the country of comfort, spanked into the oxygens of death.
Anne Sexton
Our checks are pale. Our wallets are invalids. Past due, past due, is what our bills are saying and yet we kiss in every corner, scuffing the dust and the cat. Love rises like bread as we go bust.
Anne Sexton
One can't build little white picket fences to keep nightmares out.
Anne Sexton
For forty days, for forty nights Jesus put one foot in front of the other and the man he carried, if it was a man, became heavier and heavier.
Anne Sexton
Evil is maybe lying to God. Or better, lying to love.
Anne Sexton
My objects dream and wear new costumes, compelled to, it seems, by all the words in my hands and the sea that bangs in my throat.
Anne Sexton
God is only mocked by believers.
Anne Sexton
Meanwhile in my head, I’m undergoing open-heart surgery.
Anne Sexton
We talked death with burned-up intensity, both of us drawn to it like moths to an electric light bulb. Sucking on it!
Anne Sexton
Dead drunk is the term I think of, insensible, neither cool nor warm, without a head or a foot. To be drunk is to be intimate with a fool.
Anne Sexton
Rejoice with the day lily for it is born for a day to live by the mailbox and glorify the roadside
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When I'm writing, I know I'm doing the thing I was born to do.
Anne Sexton
And within the house ashes are being stuffed into my marriage, fury is lapping the walls, dishes crack on the shelves, a strangler needs my throat, the daughter has ceased to eat anything.
Anne Sexton
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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But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. Twice I have so simply declared myself, have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy, have taken on his craft, his magic.
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It was as if a morning-glory had bloomed in her throat, and all that blue and small pollen ate into my heart, violent and religious
Anne Sexton
There is hope. There is hope everywhere. Today God give milk and I have the pail.
Anne Sexton
I lay there silently, hoarding my small dignity. I did not ask about the gate or the closet. I did not question the bedtime ritual where, on the cold bathroom tiles, I was spread out daily and examined for flaws. I did not know that my bones, those solids, those pieces of sculpture would not splinter.
Anne Sexton
Need is not quite belief.
Anne Sexton
I was only sitting here in my white study with the awful black words pushing me around.
Anne Sexton