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The Angel that presided o'er my birth Said, 'Little creature, formed of joy and mirth, Go love without the help of any thing on earth'.
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
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More quotes by William Blake
Energy is an eternal delight.
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When a Man has Married a WifeHe finds out whetherHer Knees & elbows are onlyglued together.
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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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Little fly, thy summer's play My thoughtless hand has brushed away. Am not I a fly like thee? Or art not thou a man like me? For I dance and drink and sing, Till some blind hand shall brush my wing!
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For everything that lives is holy, life delights in life.
William Blake
Reason, or the ratio of all we have already known, is not the same that it shall be when we know more.
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The stars are threshed, and the souls are threshed from their husks.
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To create a little flower is the labour of ages.
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He who makes his law a curse, by his own law shall surely die.
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When the sun rises, do you not see a round disc of fire somewhat like a guinea? O no, no, I see an innumerable company of the heavenly host crying Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty.
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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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I care not whether a man is good or evil all that I care / Is whether he is a wise man or a fool. Go! put off holiness, / And put on intellect.
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The voice of honest indignation is the voice of God.
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Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
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If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite.
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In every cry of every man, In every infant's cry of fear, In every voice, in every ban, The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.
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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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Thou fair-hair'd angel of the evening, Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light Thy bright torch of love thy radiant crown Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!
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My mother groaned, my father wept, into the dangerous world I leapt.
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This life's dim windows of the soul Distorts the heavens from pole to pole And leads you to believe a lie When you see with, not through, the eye.
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