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Pity would be no more, If we did not make somebody poor. Mercy no more could be, If all were happy as we.

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
Pity
Mercy
Somebody
Poor
Happy
Make
Would

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I am in you and you in me, mutual in divine love.
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The imagination is not a state: it is the human existence itself.
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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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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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Works of Art can only be produc'd in Perfection where the Man is either in Affluence or is Above the Care of it.
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Mercy, pity, and peace, Are the world's release.
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In your own bosom you bear your heaven and earth, And all you behold, though it appears without, It is within, in your imagination, Of which this world of mortality is but a shadow.
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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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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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Auguries of innocence The emmet's inch and eagle's mile Make lame philosophy to smile. He who doubts from what he sees Will ne'er believe, do what you please.
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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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Forgive what you do not approve & love me for this energetic exertion of my talent
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The moon, like a flower in heaven's high bower, with silent delight sits and smiles on the night.
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My mother bore me in the southern wild, And I am black, but O! my soul is white White as an angel is the English child, But I am black as if bereaved of light.
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For all eternity, I forgive you and you forgive me.
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God keep me from the divinity of Yes and Nothe Yea Nay Creeping Jesus, from supposing Up and Down to be the same thing as allexperimentalists must suppose.
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The Man who pretends to be a modest enquirer into the truth of a self-evident thing is a Knave.
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The ruins of time build mansions in eternity.
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Since all the riches of this world May be gifts from the Devil and earthly kings, I should suspect that I worshipp'd the Devil If I thank'd my God for worldly things.
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Mercy is the golden chain by which society is bound together.
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