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I am obnoxious to each carping tongue who says my hand a needle better fits.

Anne Bradstreet

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Anne Bradstreet
Age: 60 †
Born: 1612
Born: March 20
Died: 1672
Died: September 16
Poet
Writer
Ann Dudley
Ann Dudley Bradstreet
Anne Dudley Bradstreet
Anne Dudley
Hands
Obnoxious
Better
Needles
Fits
Scorn
Tongue
Fit
Says
Carping
Hand
Needle

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My love is such that Rivers cannot quench, Nor ought but love from thee, give recompence. Thy love is such I can no way repay, The heavens reward thee manifold I pray.
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Fire hath its force abated by water, not by wind and anger must be allayed by cold words, and not by blustering threats.
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He that would be content with a mean condition must not cast his eye upon one that is in a far better estate than himself, but let him look upon him that is lower than he is, and, if he see that such a one bears poverty comfortably, it will help to quiet him.
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We must, therefore, be here as strangers and pilgrims, that we may plainly declare that we seek a city above.
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If ever wife was happy in a man, compare with me, ye women if you can.
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The stones and trees, insensible to time, / Nor age nor wrinkle on their front are seen / If Winter come, and greenness then do fade / A Spring returns, and they more youthful made / But man grows old, lies down, remains where once he's laid.
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If what I do prove well, it won't advance. They'll say it's stolen, or else it was by chance.
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There is no object that we see no action that we do no good that we enjoy no evil that we feel, or fear, but we may make some spiritual advantage of all: and he that makes such improvement is wise, as well as pious.
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If ever two were one, then surely we. If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.
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I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold or all the riches that the East doth hold.
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Let Greeks be Greeks, and women what they are.
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A prosperous state makes a secure Christian, but adversity makes him Consider.
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To sing of Wars, of Captains, and of Kings/Of Cities founded, Common-wealths begun/For my mean Pen are too superior things.
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Sweet words are like honey, a little may refresh, but too much gluts the stomach.
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Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, I here, though there, yet both but one.
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Iron till it be thoroughly heated is incapable to be wrought so God sees good to cast some men into the furnace of affliction, and then beats them on His anvil into what frame He desires.
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But man grows old, lies down, remains where once he's laid.
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When I behold the heavens as in their prime, And then the earth (though old) still clad in green, The stones and trees, insensible of time, Nor age nor wrinkle on their front are seen
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My hope and treasure lies above
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What to my Saviour shall I giveWho freely hath done this for me?I'll serve him here whilst I shall liveAnd Loue him to Eternity
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