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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.
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
Daughter
Reigning
Hand
Nightly
Hands
Mastered
Long
Circus
Love
Horses
Like
Cried
Horse
Blind
Necked
More quotes by Anne Sexton
We talked death with burned-up intensity, both of us drawn to it like moths to an electric light bulb. Sucking on it!
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Blue eyes wash off sometimes.
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Home is my Bethlehem, my succoring shelter, my mental hospital, my wife, my dam, my husband, my sir, my womb, my skull.
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The stars are pears that no one can reach, even for a wedding. Perhaps for a death.
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The windows, the starving windows that drive the trees like nails into my heart.
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In a dream you are never eighty.
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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.
Anne Sexton
You who have inhabited me in the deepest and most broken place, are going, going
Anne Sexton
Today is made of yesterday, each time I steal toward rites I do not know, waiting for the lost ingredient, as if salt or money or even lust would keep us calm and prove us whole at last.
Anne Sexton
I keep feeling that there isn't one poem being written by any one of us - or a book or anything like that. The whole life of us writers, the whole product I guess I mean, is the one long poem - a community effort if you will. It's all the same poem. It doesn't belong to any one writer - it's God's poem perhaps. Or God's people's poem.
Anne Sexton
Evil is maybe lying to God. Or better, lying to love.
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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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What's missing is the eyeballs in each of us, but it doesn't matter because you've got the bucks, the bucks, the bucks.
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My mouth blooms like a cut.
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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!
Anne Sexton
I am tearing the feathers out of the pillows, waiting, waiting for Daddy to come home and stuff me so full of our infected child that I turn invisible, but married, at last.
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Oh thumb, I want a drink it is dark, where are the big people, when will I get there...?
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I brush my hair, waiting in the pain machine for my bones to get hard, for the soft, soft bones that were laid apart and were screwed together. They will knit. And the other corpse, the fractured heart, I feed it piecemeal, little chalice. I'm good to it.
Anne Sexton
I am younger each year at the first snow. When I see it, suddenly, in the air, all little and white and moving then I am in love again and very young and I believe everything.
Anne Sexton
When I lie down to love, old dwarf heart shakes her head. Like an imbecile she was born old.
Anne Sexton