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The apple tree never asks the beech how he shall grow, nor the lion, the horse, how he shall take his prey.

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
Horse
Grow
Tree
Beech
Shall
Lion
Grows
Prey
Asks
Lions
Take
Apple
Never
Apples

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Eternity is in love with the productions of time.
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When Sir Joshua Reynolds died All Nature was degraded
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For where'er the sun does shine, And where'er the rain does fall, Babe can never hunger there, Nor poverty the mind appall.
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The Stolen and Perverted Writings of Homer & Ovid, of Plato & Cicero, which all men ought to contemn, are set up by artifice against the Sublime of the Bible
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Why a tender curb upon the youthful burning boy? Why a little curtain of flesh on the bed of our desire?
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I must create a system, or be enslav'd by another man's.
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Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves the feet of angels bright unseen they pour blessing, and joy without ceasing, on each bud and blossom, and each sleeping bosom.
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If others had not been foolish, we should be so.
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Where mercy, love, and pity dwell, there God is dwelling too.
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Demonstration, similitude & harmony are objects of reasoning. Invention, identity & melody are objects of intuition.
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The ancient Poets animated all sensible objects with Gods or Geniuses, calling them by the names and adorning them with the properties of woods, rivers, mountains, lakes, cities, nations, and whatever their enlarged & numerous senses could perceive.
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In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.
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He who would do good to another must do it in Minute Particulars: general Good is the plea of the scoundrel, hypocrite, and flatterer, for Art and Science cannot exist but in minutely organized Particulars.
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He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be beloved by men.
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I have mental joys and mental health, Mental friends and mental wealth, I've a wife that I love and that loves me I've all but riches bodily.
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The Angel that presided o'er my birth Said, 'Little creature, formed of joy and mirth, Go love without the help of any thing on earth'.
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The most sublime act is to set another before you.
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I have conversed with the spiritual Sun. I saw him on Primrose Hill
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My silks and fine array, My smiles and languished air, By love are driv'n away And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave: Such end true lovers have.
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Nature in darkness groans and men are bound to sullen contemplation in the night: restless they turn on beds of sorrow in their inmost brain feeling the crushing wheels, they rise, they write the bitter words of stern philosophy and knead the bread of knowledge with tears and groans.
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