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You cutting the lawn, fixing the machines, all this leprous day and then more vodka, more soda and the pond forgiving our bodies, the pond sucking out the throb.
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
Cutting
Soda
Body
Vodka
Ponds
Lawns
Fixing
Throb
Bodies
Sucking
Forgiving
Lawn
Machines
Pond
More quotes by Anne Sexton
Suicide is, after all, the opposite of the poem.
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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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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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I imitatea memory of beliefthat I do not own.
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I am younger each year at the first snow.
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I'm an empress. I wear an apron. My typewriter writes. It didn't break the way it warned. Even crazy, I'm as nice as a chocolate bar.
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I lay there silently, hoarding my small dignity. I did not ask about the gate or the closet. I did not question the bedtime ritual where, on the cold bathroom tiles, I was spread out daily and examined for flaws. I did not know that my bones, those solids, those pieces of sculpture would not splinter.
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It's a little mad, but I believe I am many people. When I am writing a poem, I feel I am the person who should have written it.
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Father, you died once, salted down at fifty-nine, packed down like a big snow angel, wasn't that enough?
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I am your dwarf. I am the enemy within. I am the boss of your dreams. See. Your hand shakes. It is not palsy or booze. It is your Doppelganger trying to get out. Beware...Beware...
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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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All considerations for these human remains! They must have an escort! They are classified!
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... a starving man doesn't ask what the meal is.
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being sixteen in the pants I died full of questions
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To tell the truth days are all the same size and words aren't much company.
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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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Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.
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Put your mouthful of words away and come with me to watch the lilies open in such a field, growing there like yachts, slowly steering their petals without nurses or clocks.
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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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Now I am going back And I have ripped my hand From your hand as I said I would And I have made it this far.
Anne Sexton