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Poetry fettered fetters the human race.

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
Flourishing
Proportion
Destroyed
Poetry
Race
Human
Humans
Fettered
Fetters

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Innocence dwells with Wisdom, but never with ignorance.
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Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds Kiss thy perfumed garments let us taste Thy morn and evening breath scatter thy pearls Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.
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Mere enthusiasm is the all in all... / Passion and expression are beauty itself.
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Those who enter the gates of heaven are not beings who have no passions or who have curbed the passions, but those who have cultivated an understanding of them.
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One Power alone makes a Poet: Imagination. The Divine Vision.
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The fool who persists in his folly will become wise.
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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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Joy and woe are woven fine.
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Fun I love, but too much fun is of all things the most loathsome. Mirth is better than fun, and happiness is better than mirth.
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God only acts and is, in existing beings or men.
William Blake
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General good is the plea of the scoundrel, hypocite, flatterer.
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I heard an Angel singing When the day was springing, Mercy, Pity, Peace Is the world's release.
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You've always had the power right there in your shoes, you just had to learn it for yourself.
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When Sir Joshua Reynolds died All Nature was degraded
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What seems to be, is, to those to whom it seems to be, and is productive of the most dreadful consequences to those to whom it seems to be, even of torments, despair, eternal death.
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'Come hither, my boy, tell me what thou seest there?' 'A fool tangled in a religious snare.'
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The Sick Rose O Rose, thou art sick. The invisible worm That flies in the night In the howling storm Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy, And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy.
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The Old and New Testaments are the Great Code of Art.
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We are here to learn to endure the beams of love
William Blake
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thus men forgot that all deities reside in the human breast.
William Blake