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Prisons are built with stones of Law. Brothels with the bricks of religion.
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
Brothels
Prisons
Bricks
Prison
Stones
Built
Law
Religion
More quotes by William Blake
Those who enter the gates of heaven are not beings who have no passions or who have curbed the passions, but those who have cultivated an understanding of them.
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thus men forgot that all deities reside in the human breast.
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Painters are noted for being dissipated and wild.
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The lamb misused breeds public strife And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
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He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be beloved by men.
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Opposition is true friendship.
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When nations grow old the Arts grow cold And commerce settles on every tree
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He who doubts from what he sees Will ne'er believe, do what you please.
William Blake
Down the winding cavern we groped our tedious way, till a void boundless as the nether sky appeared beneath us, and we held by the roots of trees and hung over this immensity but I said: if you please we will commit ourselves to this void and see whether providence is here also.
William Blake
And I watered it in fears, Night and morning with my tears And I sunned it with smiles, And with soft deceitful wiles.
William Blake
If Christianity was morality, Socrates would be the Saviour.
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As a man is, so he sees.
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Nature has no outline. Imagination has.
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Auguries of innocence The emmet's inch and eagle's mile Make lame philosophy to smile. He who doubts from what he sees Will ne'er believe, do what you please.
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When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry weep weep weep weep. So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.
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Error is created truth is eternal.
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But if at church they would give some ale. And a pleasant fire our souls to regale. We'd sing and we'd pray all the live long day, Nor ever once from the church to stray.
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O God, protect me from my friends, that they have not power over me. Thou hast giv'n me power to protect myself from thy bitterest enemies.
William Blake
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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Thou art a man God is no more Thy own humanity Learn to adore
William Blake
