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The fish are naked. The fish are always awake. They are the color of old spoons and caramels.
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
Awake
Naked
Color
Always
Caramel
Spoons
Fish
Fishes
More quotes by Anne Sexton
My heart is on a budget. It keeps me on the brink.
Anne Sexton
I who was a house full of bowel movement, I who was a defaced altar, I who wanted to crawl toward God could not move nor eat bread.
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Then all this became history. Your hand found mine. Life rushed to my fingers like a blood clot. Oh, my carpenter, the fingers are rebuilt. They dance with yours.
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I sit at my desk each night with no place to go, opening the wrinkled maps of Milwaukee and Buffalo, the whole U.S., its cemeteries, its arbitrary time zones, through routes like small veins, capitals like small stones.
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Daisies in water are the longest lasting flower you can give to someone. Fact. Buy daisies. Not roses.
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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 am out of practice at living. You are as brave as a motorcycle.
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With this pen I take in hand my selves and with these dead disciples I will grapple. Though rain curses the window let the poem be made.
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Letters are false really - they are expressions of the way you wish you were instead of the way you are.
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I will be steel! I will build a steel bridge over my need! I will build a bomb shelter over my heart! But my future is a secret. It is as shy as a mole.
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It is a dead heart. It is inside of me. It is a stranger yet once it was agreeable, opening and closing like a clam.
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I would like to bury all the hating eyes under the sand somewhere.
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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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Don't bite till you know if it's bread or stone.
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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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I was the girl of the chain letter, the girl full of talk of coffins and keyholes, the one of the telephone bills, the wrinkled photo and the lost connections.
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The sanest thing in this world is love.
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Pulling off the fat diamond engagement ring, pulling off the elopement wedding ring, and holding them, clicking them in thumb and forefinger, the indent of twenty-five years, like a tiny rip leaving its mark.
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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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When they turn the sun on again I'll plant children under it, I'll light up my soul with a match and let it sing.
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