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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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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
Sing
Age
Time
Lament
Near
Spent

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Sin and shame ever go together he that would be freed from the last must be sure to shun the company of the first.
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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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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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But man grows old, lies down, remains where once he's laid.
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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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If ever wife was happy in a man, compare with me, ye women if you can.
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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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I am obnoxious to each carping tongue who says my hand a needle better fits.
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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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The spring is a lively emblem of the Resurrection.
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If we had not winter, the spring would not be so pleasant if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.
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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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The world no longer lets me love, My hope and treasure are above.
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Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, I here, though there, yet both but one.
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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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To sing of Wars, of Captains, and of Kings/Of Cities founded, Common-wealths begun/For my mean Pen are too superior things.
Anne Bradstreet
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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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If ever two were one, then surely we. If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.
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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.
Anne Bradstreet