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Some laborers have hard hands, and old sinners have brawny consciences.

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
Sinners
Sinner
Conscience
Hands
Hard
Brawny
Consciences
Laborers

More quotes by Anne Bradstreet

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And time brings down what is both strong and tall. But plants new set to be eradicate, And buds new blown, to have so short a date, Is by his hand alone that guides nature and fate.
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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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But man grows old, lies down, remains where once he's laid.
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Let Greeks be Greeks, and women what they are.
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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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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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I am obnoxious to each carping tongue who says my hand a needle better fits.
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If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant.
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If ever wife was happy in a man, compare with me, ye women if you can.
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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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Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, I here, though there, yet both but one.
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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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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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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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The world no longer lets me love, My hope and treasure are above.
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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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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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I am obnoxious to each carping tongue/ Who says my hand a needle better fits./ A poet's pen all scorn I should thus wrong/ For such despite they cast on female wits/ If what I do prove well, it won't advance,/ They'll say it's stolen, or else, it was by chance.
Anne Bradstreet
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Sweet words are like honey, a little may refresh, but too much gluts the stomach.
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My age I will not once lament, / But sing, my time so near is spent.
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