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— Anne Sexton"There is no word for time. Today we will not think to number another summer or watch its white bird into the ground."
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Every time I get happy the Nana-hex comes through. Birds turn into plumber's tools, a sonnet turns into a dirty joke, a wind turns into a tracheotomy, a boat turns into a corpse.
— Anne Sexton
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The silence is death. It comes each day with its shock to sit on my shoulder, a white bird, and peck at the black eyes and the vibrating red muscle of my mouth.
— Anne Sexton
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