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Quote by Anne Bradstreet

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Anne Bradstreet
Anne Bradstreet

Anne Bradstreet, born on March 20, 1612, and died on September 16, 1672, was one of the most prominent poets in America before the American Revolutionary War. She is hailed as a pioneer of American poetry and her works are known for their religious themes and feminine perspective. Bradstreet's poetry holds a significant place in the history of American literature. more

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“The fact is that whatever life we choose for ourselves, we will always have limits. And it's good that it should be like that, because we are limited beings. We can't ignore the fact that we are incapable of seeing on our own what is good for us, incapable even of asking in prayer for what is good for us. This convinces us that, in the words of Genesis, "It is not good that man should be alone." It helps us realize that each of us should give our lives to another, whether that be a creature or the Creator Himself. If you give yourself to a fellow creature, that person will not be able, on his own, to definitely fill you and satisfy you, but he will accompany you on your path, because no one can or should walk alone. No one sees himself or herself as he or she is; it's the look of the other person that tells you who you are.”

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Book:Sposala e muori per lei. Uomini veri per donne senza paura
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“[Love Wasn’t as They Said] Love wasn’t as they said… It didn’t last forever as they claimed… It is fleeting moments only recognized By those with sight and insight… And perhaps only captured By those patiently waiting as if to see a lightning in the sky… And, like lightning perhaps, we never know Where love goes after it strikes… And perhaps the only love that lasts Is one that know when to stay and when to walk away… ** Love wasn’t synonymous with honor As they defined honor... It is often the awareness that falls upon us After betraying or letting down the loved ones… Love wasn’t holding hands forever, It is boring afternoons spent together With no words And no activities… It wasn’t lifetime sexual attraction As many claimed… It is the companionship that remains After the hormonal fires are put out, When the noises of immaturity go silent, And after the childish quarrels and squabbles stop… It is the home that remains erected Long after getting erectile dysfunction… It that appetite for life after the last egg from the last period… It is that strange feeling of elation That may come after what is mistakenly called a “midlife crisis”, To fill that frightening gap between hope and reality… ** Love is a widow brushing her hair, On a bus or in a public place, Unbothered by onlookers or passersby, As she opens her shabby handbag And takes out an apple to bite on With the teeth she has left… Love is an eye surrounded with wrinkles But is finally able to see the world Sensitively, insightfully, and more realistically, Without exaggerated embellishment or distortion… ** Love is shreds of joy Interspersed with long intervals Of boredom, exhaustion, reproach, and disappointment… It’s not measured with red flowers, bears, and expensive gifts in shiny wraps, It is who remains when the glucose, blood pressure and cholesterol numbers are high… It’s those who stay after the heart catheterization and knee replacement surgeries… Love gets stronger after getting osteoporosis And may move mountains despite the rheumatism… ** Love is the few seconds when our eyes cross with strangers Who awaken in us feelings we hadn’t experienced with those living with us in years… Or perhaps it’s rubbing arms and shoulders with a passenger On a bus, in a train, or on a plane… It is that fleeting look from a passerby in the street Convey to us that they, too, have understood the game, But there’s not much they can do about it… ** Love wasn’t as they said It wasn’t as they said… It is not 1+1=2… It is sometimes three or more… At other times, it grows at point zero or lower, In solitude, in loneliness, and in seclusion… Isn’t it time, I wonder, to demolish everything falsely, unfairly, and misleadingly attributed to love? Or is it that love burns and dies Precisely when we try to capture it in our hands? [Original poem published in Arabic on October 27, 2022 at ahewar.org]”

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