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Every Night and every Morn Some to Misery are born. Every Morn and every Night Some are born to Sweet Delight, Some are born to Endless 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
Misery
Poetry
Sweet
Baby
Born
Night
Morn
Every
Endless
Delight
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Demonstration, similitude & harmony are objects of reasoning. Invention, identity & melody are objects of intuition.
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Prudence is a rich, ugly, old maid courted by incapacity.
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O why was I born with a different face? Why was I not born like the rest of my race?
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Knowledge of ideal beauty is not to be acquired. It is born with us. Innate ideas are in every man, born with him theyare truly himself.
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To my eye Rubens' colouring is most contemptible. His shadows are a filthy brown somewhat the colour of excrement.
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He who wants, but doesn't act, is a pest.
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All futurity seems teeming with endless destruction never to be repelled Desperate remorse swallows the present in a quenchless rage.
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How can a bird that is born for joy Sit in a cage and sing?
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You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.
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The spirits of the air live on the smells Of fruit and joy, with pinions light, roves round The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.
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Naught can deform the human race Like to the armor's iron brace.
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The countless gold of a merry heart, The rubies and pearls of a loving eye, The indolent never can bring to the mart, Nor the secret hoard up in his treasury.
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The world of imagination is the world of eternity. It is the divine bosom into which we shall all go after death of the vegetative body.
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Knowledge is Life with wings
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None but blockheads copy each other.
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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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The eye altering, alters all.
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She who dwells with me whom I have loved with such communion, that no place on earth can ever be solitude to me.
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To some people a tree is something so incredibly beautiful that it brings tears to the eyes. To others it is just a green thing that stands in the way.
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As the caterpillar chooses the fairest leaves to lay her eggs on, so the priest lays his curse on the fairest joys.
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