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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
Point
Bed
Someone
Warm
Need
Field
Needs
Dollars
Thing
Consider
Life
Dog
Barks
Fields
Lilies
Fighting
Bark
More quotes by Anne Sexton
Maybe, although my heart is a kitten of butter, I am blowing it up like a zeppelin.
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As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.
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the marriage twists, holds firm, a sailor's knot.
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Fee-fi-fo-fum - Now I'm borrowed. Now I'm numb.
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it was my first doll that water went into and water came out of much earlier it was the diaper I wore and the dirt thereof and my mother hating me for it
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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.
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Images are probably the most important part of the poem. First of all you want to tell a story, but images are what are going to shore it up and get to the heart of the matter.
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Rocks crumble, make new forms, oceans move the continents, mountains rise up and down like ghosts yet all is natural, all is change.
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I'll Vacuum up my stale hair, I'll pay all my neighbors' bad debts, I'll write a poem called Yellow and put my lips down to drink it up.
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Yes I try to kill myself in small amounts, an innocuous occupation. Actually I'm hung up on it.
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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.
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Now that I have written many words, and let out so many loves, for so many, and been altogether what I always was a woman of excess, of zeal and greed, I find the effort useless.
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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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The body is a damn hard thing to kill.
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I, in my brand new body, which was not a woman's yet, told the stars my questions and thought God could really see the heat and the painted light, elbows, knees, dreams, goodnight.
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Even without wars, life is dangerous.
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I have a black look I do not like. It is a mask I try on. I migrate toward it and its frog sits on my lips and defecates.
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Take your foot out of the graveyard, they are busy being dead.
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Yes, I know. Death sits with his key in my lock. Not one day is taken for granted. Even nursery rhymes have put me in hock.
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Thumbs grow into my throat. I wear slaps like a spot of rouge.
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