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What's the point of fighting the dollars when all you need is a warm bed? When the dog barks you let him in. All we need is someone to let us in. And one other thing: to consider the lilies in the field.
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
Fields
Lilies
Fighting
Bark
Point
Bed
Someone
Warm
Need
Field
Needs
Dollars
Thing
Consider
Life
Dog
Barks
More quotes by Anne Sexton
What a lay me down this is with two pink, two orange, two green, two white goodnights.
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Though rain curses the window let the poem be made.
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All I am is the trick of words writing themselves.
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The grass as bristly and stout as chives and me wondering when the ground will break and me wondering how anything fragile survives
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You cutting the lawn, fixing the machines, all this leprous day and then more vodka, more soda and the pond forgiving our bodies, the pond sucking out the throb.
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Suicide is, after all, the opposite of the poem.
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One of my secret instructions to myself as a poet is Whatever you do, don't be boring.
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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
Mood can be as important as sense.
Anne Sexton
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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Maybe, although my heart is a kitten of butter, I am blowing it up like a zeppelin.
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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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The body is a damn hard thing to kill.
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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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When I lie down to love, old dwarf heart shakes her head. Like an imbecile she was born old.
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Now I am going back And I have ripped my hand From your hand as I said I would And I have made it this far.
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I find now, swallowing one teaspoon of pain, that it drops downward to the past where it mixes with last year’s cupful and downward into a decade’s quart and downward into a lifetime’s ocean. I alternate treading water and deadman’s float.
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Cinderella and the prince lived, they say, happily ever after, like two dolls in a museum case never bothered by diapers or dust, never arguing over the timing of an egg, never telling the same story twice.
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The man inside of woman ties a knot so that they will never again be separate.
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Now I am just an elderly lady who is full of spleen, who humps around greater Boston in a God-awful hat, who never lived and yet outlived her time, hating men and dogs and Democrats.
Anne Sexton