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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.
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
Without
Loss
Baby
Somebody
Bleed
Blood
Coward
Gone
Abortion
Woman
Logic
Born
Meant
Death
Lead
More quotes by Anne Sexton
All who love have lied.
Anne Sexton
Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself, Counting this row and that row of moccasins Waiting on the silent shelf.
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I brush my hair, waiting in the pain machine for my bones to get hard, for the soft, soft bones that were laid apart and were screwed together. They will knit. And the other corpse, the fractured heart, I feed it piecemeal, little chalice. I'm good to it.
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[I] have fantasies of killing myself and thus being the powerful one not the powerless one.
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Today God gives milk / and I have the pail.
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All considerations for these human remains! They must have an escort! They are classified!
Anne Sexton
All I am is the trick of words writing themselves.
Anne Sexton
Only my books anoint me, and a few friends, those who reach into my veins.
Anne Sexton
Maybe I am becoming a hermit, opening the door for only a few special animals? Maybe my skull is too crowded and it has no opening through which to feed it soup?
Anne Sexton
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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... a starving man doesn't ask what the meal is.
Anne Sexton
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
The little girl skipped by under the wrinkled oak leaves and held fast to a replica of herself.
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I’m lost. And it’s my own fault. It’s about time I figured out that I can’t ask people to keep me found.
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My business is words. Words are like labels, or coins, or better, like swarming bees.
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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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My eyes, those sluts, those whores, would play no more.
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Suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build.
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At six I lived in a graveyard full of dolls, avoiding myself, my body, the suspect in its grotesque house.
Anne Sexton
I grow old on my bitterness.
Anne Sexton