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Of course the New Testament is very small. Its mouth opens four times as out-of-date as a prehistoric monster, yet somehow man-made.
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
Courses
Opens
Course
Testament
Small
Date
Four
Monsters
Times
Mouth
Made
Somehow
Men
Mouths
Prehistoric
Bible
Monster
More quotes by Anne Sexton
Mood can be as important as sense.
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I raise my pelvis to God so that it may know the truth of how flowers smash through the long winter.
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Images are probably the most important part of the poem. First of all you want to tell a story, but images are what are going to shore it up and get to the heart of the matter.
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Now I am just an elderly lady who is full of spleen, who humps around greater Boston in a God-awful hat, who never lived and yet outlived her time, hating men and dogs and Democrats.
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I imitatea memory of beliefthat I do not own.
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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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The soul was not cured, it was as full as a clothes closet of dresses that did not fit.
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Inside many of us is a small old man who wants to get out.
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Jewels! Today each twig is important, each ring, each infection, each form is all that the gods must have meant.
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The man inside of woman ties a knot so that they will never again be separate.
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Don't bite till you know if it's bread or stone.
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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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I am crazy as hell, but I know it. And knowing it is a kind of sanity that makes the sickness worse.
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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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Bless all useful objects, the spoons made of bone, the mattress I cook my dreams upon, the typewriter that is my church with an altar of keys always waiting.
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we do not explain my husband's insane abuse and we do not say why your wild-haired wife has fled or that my father opened like a walnut and then was dead. Your palms fold over me like knees. Love is the only use.
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When the cow gives blood and the Christ is born we must all eat sacrifices. We must all eat beautiful women.
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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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I tell you what you’ll never really know: all the medical hypothesis that explained my brain will never be as true as these struck leaves letting go.
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All who love have lied.
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