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The lamb misused breeds public strife And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
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
Breeds
Lambs
Knife
Strife
Butcher
Knives
Forgives
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Misused
Public
Butchers
Lamb
More quotes by William Blake
No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings.
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I am going to that country which I have all my life wished to see.
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Struggling in my father's hands, Striving against my swaddling bands, Bound and weary, I thought best To sulk upon my mother's breast.
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If the lion was advised by the fox, he would be cunning.
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They who forgive most shall be most forgiven.
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Opposition is true friendship.
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Innate ideas are in every man, born with him they are truly himself. The man who says that we have no innate ideas must be a fool and knave, having no conscience or innate science.
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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.
William Blake
I am more famed in Heaven for my works than I could well conceive. In my brain are studies & chambers filled with books & pictures of old, which I wrote and painted in ages of Eternity before my mortal life and whose works are the delight & study of Archangels. Why, then, should I be anxious about the riches or fame of mortality?
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God appears, and God is Light, to those poor souls who dwell in Night but does a Human Form display to those who dwell in realms of Day.
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There can be no Good Will. Will is always Evil it is persecution to others or selfishness.
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He loves to sit and hear me sing, Then, laughing, sports and plays with me Then stretches out my golden wing, And mocks my loss of liberty.
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The person who does not believe in miracles surely makes it certain that he or she will never take part in one.
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Come live, and be merry, and join with me, To sing the sweet chorus of 'Ha ha he!
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He who wants, but doesn't act, is a pest.
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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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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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The soul of sweet delight, can never be defiled.
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Thou art a man God is no more Thy own humanity Learn to adore
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More! More! is the cry of a mistaken soul.
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