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Think in the morning. Act in the noon. Eat in the evening. Sleep in the night.

William Blake

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William Blake
Age: 69 †
Born: 1757
Born: November 28
Died: 1827
Died: August 12
Collector
Engraver
Graphic Artist
Illustrator
Lithographer
Painter
Philosopher
Poet
Printer
Theologian
London
England
W. Blake
Uil'iam Bleik
Blake
Thinking
Noon
Waking
Evening
Sleep
Morning
Happiness
Night
Think

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The worship of God is, Honouring his gifts in other men each according to his genius, and loving the greatest men best those who envy or calumniate great men hate God, for there is no other God.
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Every thing possible to be believ'd is an image of truth.
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Lives in eternity's sun rise.
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Degrade first the Arts if you'd Mankind Degrade. Hire Idiots to Paint with cold light & hot shade: Give high Price for the worst, leave the best in disgrace, And with Labours of Ignorance fill every place.
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Nothing can be more contemptible than to suppose Public Records to be true.
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I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow.
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The vision of Christ that thou dost see is my vision's greatest enemy . Both read the Bible day and night, but thou read'st black where I read white. His seventy disciples sent against religion and government .
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To cast aside from Poetry, all that is not Inspiration
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LOVE'S SECRET Never seek to tell thy love, Love that never told can be For the gentle wind doth move Silently, invisibly. I told my love, I told my love, I told her all my heart, Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears. Ah! she did depart! Soon after she was gone from me, A traveller came by, Silently, invisibly: He took her with a sigh.
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Where others see but the dawn coming over the hill, I see the soul of God shouting for joy.
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Kill not the moth nor butterfly, For the Last Judgement draweth nigh.
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He who has suffered you to impose on him knows you.
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Then my verse I dishonor, my pictures despise, my person degrade and my temper chastise and the pen is my terror, the pencil my shame and my talents I bury, and dead is my fame.
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God and His Priest and King,...make up a heaven of our misery.
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O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit Beneath my shady roof there thou may'st rest, And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe And all the daughters of the year shall dance! Sing now the lusty song of fruit and flowers.
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O thou who passest through our valleys in Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat That flames from their large nostrils! Thou, O Summer, Oft pitchest here thy golden tent, and oft Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld With joy thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.
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Thy friendship oft has made my heart to ache: do be my enemy for friendship's sake.
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God forbid that Truth should be confined to Mathematical Demonstration!
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Prisons are built with stones of Law. Brothels with the bricks of religion.
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In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.
William Blake