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What is the price of experience? Do men buy it for a song? Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the price of all the man hath, his house, his wife, his children.

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
Experience
Bought
House
Price
Children
Street
Men
Dance
Streets
Wife
Wisdom
Song
Hath

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I must create a system or be enslaved by another mans I will not reason and compare: my business is to create.
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The little ones leaped, and shouted, and laugh'd And all the hills echoed
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God is the poetic genius in each of us.
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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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Innocence dwells with Wisdom, but never with ignorance.
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Dear Mother, dear Mother, the Church is cold, But the Ale-house is healthy and pleasant and warm.
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The Vision of Christ that thou dost see, Is my vision's greatest enemy. Thine is the Friend of all Mankind, Mine speaks in Parables to the blind. Thine loves the same world that mine hates, Thy heaven-doors are my hell gates.
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In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.
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A dog starv'd at the master's gate Predicts the ruin of the State. A horse misus'd upon the road Calls to heaven for human blood. Each outcry of the hunted hare A fibre from the brain does tear, A skylark wounded on the wing, A cherubim does cease to sing.
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Without Unceasing Practice nothing can be done. Practice is Art. If you leave off you are lost.
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Every mortal loss is an immortal gain.
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To create a little flower is the labour of ages.
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On no other ground Can I sow my seed Without tearing up Some stinking weed.
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To Mercy, Pity, Peace and Love All pray in their distress, And to these virtues of delight Return their thankfulness.
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[L]et light Rise from the chambers of the east, and bring The honey'd dew that cometh on waking day. O radiant morning.
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Death is terrible, tho' borne on angels' wings!
William Blake
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The eye altering, alters all.
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Thou fair-hair'd angel of the evening, Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light Thy bright torch of love thy radiant crown Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!
William Blake
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O why was I born with a different face? Why was I not born like the rest of my race?
William Blake
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Mans desires are limited by his perceptions none can desire what he has not perceived.
William Blake