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Everyone has left me except my muse, that good nurse. She stays in my hand, a mild white mouse.
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
Hand
White
Mild
Everyone
Mouse
Inspirational
Stays
Left
Mice
Hands
Muse
Good
Nurse
Except
More quotes by Anne Sexton
I am teaching... This year it's kind of like having a love affair with a rhinoceros.
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I must always forget how one word is able to pick out another, to manner another, until I have got something I might have said... but did not.
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There is hope. There is hope everywhere. Today God give milk and I have the pail.
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Meanwhile in my head, I’m undergoing open-heart surgery.
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Of course the New Testament is very small. Its mouth opens four times as out-of-date as a prehistoric monster, yet somehow man-made.
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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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My faith is a great weight hung on a small wire, as doth the spider hang her baby on a thin web.
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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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Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren
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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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I see myself as one would see another. I have been cut in two.
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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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I am torn in two but I will conquer myself.
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I would like a simple life / yet all night I am laying / poems away in a long box.
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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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The windows, the starving windows that drive the trees like nails into my heart.
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Don't bite till you know if it's bread or stone.
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Inside many of us is a small old man who wants to get out.
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No matter whose bed you die in the bed will be yours for your voyage onto the surgical andiron of God.
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It would be pleasant to be drunk.
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