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I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold or all the riches that the East doth hold.

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
Riches
East
Mines
Gold
Hold
Whole
Vow
Love
Doth
Prize

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Satan, that great angler, hath his sundry baits for sundry tempers of men, which they all catch greedily at, but few perceive the hook till it be too late.
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Youth is the time of getting, middle age of improving, and old age of spending a negligent youth is usually attended by an ignorant middle age, and both by an empty old age.
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Wisdom with an inheritance is good, but wisdom without an inheritance is better than an inheritance without wisdom.
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My hope and treasure lies above
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I happy am, if well with you.
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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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If ever wife was happy in a man, compare with me, ye women if you can.
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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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I am obnoxious to each carping tongue who says my hand a needle better fits.
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Wickedness comes to its height by degrees. He that dares say of a less sin, Is it not a little one? will ere long say of a greater, Tush, God regards it not!
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Let Greeks be Greeks, and women what they are.
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Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, I here, though there, yet both but one.
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Art can do much, but this maxim's most sure/A weak or wounded brain admits no cure.
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Youth is the time of getting, middle age of improving, and old age of spending.
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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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My age I will not once lament, / But sing, my time so near is spent.
Anne Bradstreet
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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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Sweet words are like honey, a little may refresh, but too much gluts the stomach.
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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
Anne Bradstreet
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It is reported of the peacock that priding himself in his gay feathers he ruffles them up but spying his black feet he soon lets fall his plumes. So he that glories in his gifts and adornings should look upon his corruptions, and that will damp his high thoughts.
Anne Bradstreet