Frases e Palavras de Impacto de Anne Sexton

14 frases cadastradas

“I stand in the ring in the dead city and tie on the red shoes. Everything that was calm is mine, the watch with an ant walking, the toes, lined up like dogs, the stove long before it boils toads, the parlor, white in winter, long before flies, the doe lying down on moss, long before the bullet. I tie on the red shoes. They are not mine. They are my mother’s. Her mother’s before. Handed down like an heirloom but hidden like shameful letters. The house and the street where they belong are hidden and all the women, too, are hidden. All those girls who wore the red shoes, each boarded a train that would not stop. Stations flew by like suitors and would not stop. They all danced like trout on the hook. They were played with. They tore off their ears like safety pins. Their arms fell off them and became hats. Their heads rolled off and sang down the street. And their feet – oh God, their feet in the market place - their feet, those two beetles, ran for the corner and then danced forth as if they were proud. Surely, people exclaimed, surely they are mechanical. Otherwise… But the feet went on. The feet could not stop. They were wound up like a cobra that sees you. They were elastic pulling itself in two. They were islands during an earthquake. They were ships colliding and going down. Never mind you and me. They could not listen. They could not stop. What they did was the death dance. What they did would do them in.”

Autor: Anne Sexton
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“Coragem É nas pequenas coisas que o vemos. O primeiro passo da criança, tão incrível como um terremoto. A primeira vez que você andou de bicicleta, desequilibrando-se pela calçada. A primeira surra, quando seu coração saiu sozinho em viagem. Quando o chamaram de bebê chorão ou pobre ou gordo ou maluco, e o tornaram um completo estranho, você bebeu aquele ácido e o ocultou. Mais tarde, se você enfrentou a morte das balas e bombas, não o fez com um estandarte, mas apenas com um chapéu para cobrir seu coração. Você não afagou sua fraqueza embora ela estivesse ali. Sua coragem era um carvão que você continuou engolindo. Se seu camarada o salvou e morreu fazendo-o, então aquela coragem não era coragem, mas amor; amor tão simples como espuma de barbear. Mais tarde, se suportou um grande desespero, você o fez sozinho, recebendo uma transfusão do fogo, raspando as crostas de seu coração, e então o arrancando feito uma meia. Depois, meu irmão, você pulverizou sua pena, fez-lhe uma massagem nas costas, então a cobriu com uma manta e, após haver dormido um pouco, ela acordou para as asas das rosas transformada. Mais tarde, quando tiver de encarar a velhice e a natural conclusão, sua coragem ainda se mostrará nas pequenas coisas, cada primavera será uma espada que você afiará, aqueles que você ama viverão em febres de amor e você barganhará com o calendário e no último instante, quando a morte abrir a porta dos fundos, você vai calçar suas pantufas e sair.”

Autor: Anne Sexton
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“A Fúria do Pôr do Sol Algo frio está no ar, uma aura de gelo e catarro. Todo o dia eu construí uma vida inteira e agora o sol afunda-se desfazer. O horizonte sangra e suga seu polegar. O pequeno polegar vermelho sai da vista. E eu me pergunto sobre esta vida comigo mesmo, esse sonho que estou vivendo. Eu poderia comer o céu como uma maçã Mas eu prefiro perguntar à primeira estrela: por que estou aqui? por que eu vivo nesta casa? quem é o responsável? hein?”

Autor: Anne Sexton
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“I stand in the ring in the dead city and tie on the red shoes. Everything that was calm is mine, the watch with an ant walking, the toes, lined up like dogs, the stove long before it boils toads, the parlor, white in winter, long before flies, the doe lying down on moss, long before the bullet. I tie on the red shoes. They are not mine. They are my mother’s. Her mother’s before. Handed down like an heirloom but hidden like shameful letters. The house and the street where they belong are hidden and all the women, too, are hidden. All those girls who wore the red shoes, each boarded a train that would not stop. Stations flew by like suitors and would not stop. They all danced like trout on the hook. They were played with. They tore off their ears like safety pins. Their arms fell off them and became hats. Their heads rolled off and sang down the street. And their feet – oh God, their feet in the market place - their feet, those two beetles, ran for the corner and then danced forth as if they were proud. Surely, people exclaimed, surely they are mechanical. Otherwise… But the feet went on. The feet could not stop. They were wound up like a cobra that sees you. They were elastic pulling itself in two. They were islands during an earthquake. They were ships colliding and going down. Never mind you and me. They could not listen. They could not stop. What they did was the death dance. What they did would do them in.”

Autor: Anne Sexton
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