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The silence is death. It comes each day with its shock to sit on my shoulder, a white bird, and peck at the black eyes and the vibrating red muscle of my mouth.
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
White
Shoulders
Black
Red
Comes
Mouth
Peck
Death
Mouths
Vibrating
Bird
Muscle
Silence
Shoulder
Eyes
Muscles
Eye
Shock
More quotes by Anne Sexton
Now, in my middle age, about nineteen in the head I'd say, I am rowing, I am rowing.
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As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.
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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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[I] have fantasies of killing myself and thus being the powerful one not the powerless one.
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Love? Be it man. Be it woman. It must be a wave you want to glide in on, give your body to it, give your laugh to it, give, when the gravelly sand takes you, your tears to the land. To love another is something like prayer and can't be planned, you just fall into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.
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The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars. Oh starry starry night! This is how I want to die.
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Then God spoke to me and said: People say only good things about Christmas. If they want to say something bad, they whisper.
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I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.
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Fee-fi-fo-fum - Now I'm borrowed. Now I'm numb.
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The sanest thing in this world is love.
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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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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 put the gold star up in the front window beside the flag. Alterations is what I know and what I did: hems, gussets and seams.
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I try to take care and be gentle to them. Words and eggs must be handled with care. Once broken they are impossible things to repair.
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this is no dream just my oily life where the people are alibis and the street is unfindable for an entire lifetime.
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I am not lazy. I am on the amphetamine of the soul. I am, each day, typing out the God my typewriter believes in.
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All who love have lied.
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The beautiful feeling after writing a poem is on the whole better even than after sex, and that's saying a lot.
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One can't build little white picket fences to keep nightmares out.
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There is no word for time. Today we will not think to number another summer or watch its white bird into the ground.
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