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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.
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
Children
Aging
Would
Legs
Like
Flower
Months
Monuments
Blood
Bloom
Break
Exotic
Woman
Monument
Two
Month
More quotes by Anne Sexton
...became a woman who learned her own skin and dug into her soul and found it full.
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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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Watch out for intellect, because it knows so much it knows nothing and leaves you hanging upside down, mouthing knowledge as your heart falls out of your mouth.
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sorrow is easier than guilt.
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My life has appeared unclothed in court, detail by detail, death-bone witness by death-bone witness, and I was shamed at the verdict.
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God is only mocked by believers.
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I raise my pelvis to God so that it may know the truth of how flowers smash through the long winter.
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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.
Anne Sexton
Not that it was beautiful, but that I found some order there.
Anne Sexton
The family story tells, and it was told true, of my great-grandfather who begat eight genius children and bought twelve almost new grand pianos. He left a considerable estate when he died.
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In a letter (no matter how quickly it is written or honestly or freely or lovingly) it is more possible to be loving and lovable, more possible to reach out and to take in ... I feel I have somehow deceived you into thinking this is really a human relationship. It is a letter relationship between humans.
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Women tell time by the body. They are like clocks. They are always fastened to the earth, listening for its small animal noises.
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Rats live on no evil star
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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.
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No one to hate except the slim fish of memory that slides in and out of my brain.
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I am a collection of dismantled almosts.
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I'm the crazy one who thinks that words reach people.
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Well, one gets out of bed and the planets don't always hiss or muck up the day, each day.
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O yellow eye, let me be sick with your heat, let me be feverish and frowning.
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stop the darkness and its amputations and find the real McCoy in the private holiness of my hands.
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