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To the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself.
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
Science
Deformity
Nature
Scarce
Men
Ridicule
Forests
Tree
Imagination
Eyes
Eye
More quotes by William Blake
When thou seest an eagle, thou seest a portion of genius lift up thy head!
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The Woman that does not love your Frowns Will never embrace your smiles.
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How can a bird that is born for joy Sit in a cage and sing?
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Forgive what you do not approve & love me for this energetic exertion of my talent
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Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me: Pipe a song about a Lamb. So I piped with merry cheer Piper, pipe that song again. So I piped he wept to hear.
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If others had not been foolish, we should be so.
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Without Unceasing Practice nothing can be done. Practice is Art. If you leave off you are lost.
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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The world of imagination is the world of eternity. It is the divine bosom into which we shall all go after death of the vegetative body.
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Thy friendship oft has made my heart to ache: do be my enemy for friendship's sake.
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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.
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The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God.
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What is it men in women do require: The lineaments of gratified desire. What is it women do in men require: The lineaments of gratified 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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He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be beloved by men.
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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 my eye Rubens' colouring is most contemptible. His shadows are a filthy brown somewhat the colour of excrement.
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The cut worm forgives the plow.
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If the lion was advised by the fox, he would be cunning.
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Why cannot the ear be closed to its own destruction? Or the glistening eye to the poison of a smile?
William Blake