Quote

I rest not from my great task! | To open the Eternal Worlds, | to open the immortal Eyes of Man | Inwards into the Worlds of Thought | Into eternity, ever expanding | In the Bosom of God, | The Human Imagination

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
World
Eyes
Immortal
Eye
Task
Thought
Tasks
Ever
Eternity
Inwards
Human
Eternal
Bosom
Humans
Rest
Bosoms
Great
Imagination
Expanding
Men
Open
Worlds

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Painters are noted for being dissipated and wild.
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Where others see but the dawn coming over the hill, I see the soul of God shouting for joy.
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Excessive sorrow laughs. Excessive joy weeps.
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I see the Past, Present & Future existing all at once Before me.
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None but blockheads copy each other.
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Joys impregnate. Sorrows bring forth.
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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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And I made a rural pen, And I stained the water clear, And I wrote my happy songs Every Child may joy to hear.
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I must create a system, or be enslav'd by another man's.
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Wisdom is sold in a desolate marketplace where none can come to buy.
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Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained.
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How sweet I roamed from field to field, And tasted all the summer's pride, Till I the prince of love beheld, Who in the sunny beams did glide!
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Each man is haunted until his humanity awakens.
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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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To the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself.
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He who makes his law a curse, by his own law shall surely die.
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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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The nakedness of woman is the work of God.
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He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be beloved by men.
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If you would help another man, you must do so in minute particulars.
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