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Naught can deform the human race Like to the armor's iron brace.
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
Naught
Armor
Iron
Race
Human
Humans
Deform
Men
Brace
Like
Braces
More quotes by William Blake
Let every Christian, as much as in him lies, engage himself openly and publicly, before all the World, in some mental pursuit for the Building up of Jerusalem.
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First thought is best in Art, second in other matters.
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The Goddess Fortune is the devil's servant, ready to kiss any one's ass.
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Everything to be imagined is an image of truth.
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Poetry fettered, fetters the human race. Nations are destroyed or flourish in proportion as their poetry, painting, and music are destroyed or flourish.
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The inquiry in England is not whether a man has talents and genius, but whether he is passive and polite and a virtuous ass and obedient to noblemen's opinions in art and science. If he is, he is a good man. If not, he must be starved.
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Knowledge is Life with wings
William Blake
For Mercy has a human heart Pity, a human face: And Love, the human form divine, And Peace, the human dress.
William Blake
When I tell the truth, it is not for the sake of convincing those who do not know it, but for the sake of defending those that do.
William Blake
O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors: The north is thine there hast thou build thy dark, Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs, Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.
William Blake
Time is the mercy of Eternity without Time's swiftness Which is the swiftest of all things, all were eternal torment.
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If the Sun and Moon should ever doubt, they'd immediately go out.
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Degrade first the Arts if you'd Mankind Degrade. Hire Idiots to Paint with cold light & hot shade: Give high Price for the worst, leave the best in disgrace, And with Labours of Ignorance fill every place.
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Forgive what you do not approve & love me for this energetic exertion of my talent
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More! More! is the cry of a mistaken soul.
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Bring me my bow of burning gold: Bring me my arrows of desire: Bring me my spear: O clouds, unfold! Bring me my chariot of fire.
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And I watered it in fears, Night and morning with my tears And I sunned it with smiles, And with soft deceitful wiles.
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The voice of honest indignation is the voice of God.
William Blake
Does a firm persuasion that a thing is so, make it so?
William Blake
Harmony of colouring is destructive of art? it is like the smile of a fool.
William Blake