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The roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the stormy sea, and the destructive sword, are portions of eternity, too great for the eye of man.
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
Destructive
Howling
Rage
Raging
Eternity
Stormy
Sea
Roaring
Eye
Wolves
Great
Sword
Men
Portions
Lions
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Expect poison from the standing water.
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Better to shun the bait than struggle in the snare.
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The hours of folly are measured by the clock but of wisdom, no clock can measure.
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The mocker of Art is the mocker of Jesus.
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What is grand is necessarily obscure to weak men. That which can be made explicit to the idiot is not worth my care.
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To see a world in a grain of sand And a heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, And eternity in an hour.
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Although wine when it is read somewhat lacks the savour of wine when it is drunk, wine remains a very pleasant thing both to read about and to chat about.
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Colouring does not depend on where the colours are put, but on where the lights and darks are put, and all depends on form and outline, on where that is put.
William Blake
And is he honest who resists his genius or conscience only for the sake of present ease or gratification
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Joy and woe are woven fine, A clothing for the soul divine. Under every grief and pine Runs a joy with silken twine.
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General knowledges are those knowledges that idiots possess.
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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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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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If you have formed a circle to go into,Go into it yourself and see how you would do.
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The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.
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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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Death is terrible, tho' borne on angels' wings!
William Blake
Ah, sunflower, weary of time, Who countest the steps of the sun, Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller's journey is done Where the youth pined away with desire And the pale virgin shrouded in snow Arise from their graves, and aspire Where my sunflower wishes to go.
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Pride is a personal commitment. It is an attitude which separates excellence from mediocrity.
William Blake
A DIVINE IMAGE Cruelty has a human heart, And Jealousy a human face Terror the human form divine, And Secresy the human dress. The human dress is forged iron, The human form a fiery forge, The human face a furnace sealed, The human heart its hungry gorge.
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