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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.
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
Leaving
Ring
Clicking
Mark
Fats
Thumb
Five
Divorce
Rip
Years
Holding
Thumbs
Like
Rings
Engagement
Twenty
Diamond
Twenties
Wedding
Tiny
Pulling
Forefinger
More quotes by Anne Sexton
... a starving man doesn't ask what the meal is.
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My sleeping pill is white. It is a splendid pearl it floats me out of myself, my stung skin as alien as a loose bolt of cloth.
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Love your self's self where it lives.
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Poor thing. To die and never see Brooklyn.
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My ideas are a curse. They spring from a radical discontent with the awful order of things. I play clown. I play carpenter. I play nurse. I play witch.
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My death from the wrists, two name tags, blood worn like a corsage to bloom one on the left and one on the right.
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We are all writing God's poem.
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The trouble with therapy is that it makes life go backwards.
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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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Yesterday I did not want to be borrowed but this is the typewriter that sits before me and love is where yesterday is at.
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It is in the small things we see it. The child's first step, as awesome as an earthquake. The first time you rode a bike, wallowing up the sidewalk.
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But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. Twice I have so simply declared myself, have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy, have taken on his craft, his magic.
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When I'm writing, I know I'm doing the thing I was born to do.
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Blue eyes wash off sometimes.
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I love the word warm. It is almost unbearable-- so moist and breathlike.
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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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Suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build.
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Come, my pretender, my fritter, my bubbler, my chicken biddy! Oh succulent one, it is but one turn in the road and I would be a cannibal!
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God went out of me as if the sea dried up like sandpaper, as if the sun became a latrine.
Anne Sexton
Yet love enters my blood like an I.V., dripping in its little white moments.
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