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But even in a telephone booth evil can seep out of the receiver and we must cover it with a mattress, and then tear it from its roots and bury it, bury it.
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
Tear
Seep
Cover
Mattress
Roots
Mattresses
Tears
Booth
Evil
Receiver
Must
Bury
Even
Telephone
Telephones
More quotes by Anne Sexton
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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I think I've been writing black poems all along, wearing my white mask. I'm always the victim ... but no longer!
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Being kissed on the back of the knee is a moth at the windowscreen.
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sorrow is easier than guilt.
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Watch out for love (unless it is true, and every part of you says yes including the toes), it will wrap you up like a mummy, and your scream won't be heard and none of your running will run.
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I wonder if the artist ever lives his life--he is so busy recreating it.
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I love you. You are closest to my heart, closer than any other human being. You are my extension. You are my prayer. You are my belief in God. For better or worse you inherit me.
Anne Sexton
If you meet a cross-eyed person you must plunge into the grass, alongside the chilly ants, fish through the green fingernails and come up with the four-leaf clover.
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Blind with love, my daughter has cried nightly for horses, those long-necked marchers and churners that she has mastered, any and all, reigning them in like a circus hand.
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You must be a poet, a lady of evil luck desiring to be what you are not, longing to be what you can only visit.
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Today God gives milk / and I have the pail.
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All the oxygen of the world was in them. All the feet of the babies of the world were in them. All the crotches of the angels of the world were in them. All the morning kisses of Philadelphia were in them.
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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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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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The day of fire is coming, the thrush will fly ablaze like a little sky rocket.
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It's all a matter of history. Brandy is no solace. Librium only lies me down like a dead snow queen. Yes! I am still the criminal.
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Look to your heart that flutters in and out like a moth. God is not indifferent to your need. You have a thousand prayers but God has one.
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Poets are sitting in my kitchen. Why do these poets lie? Why do children get children and Did you hear what it said?
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I leave you, home, when I'm ripped from the doorstep by commerce or fate. Then I submit to the awful subway of the world.
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Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren
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