Quote

I must create a system, or be enslav'd by another man's.

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
Another
Must
Rage
Men
Invention
Atheism
System
Create
Space
Fear

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He loves to sit and hear me sing, Then, laughing, sports and plays with me Then stretches out my golden wing, And mocks my loss of liberty.
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O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit Beneath my shady roof there thou may'st rest, And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe And all the daughters of the year shall dance! Sing now the lusty song of fruit and flowers.
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He who sees the Infinite in all things sees God.
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Poetry fettered fetters the human race.
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Imitation is criticism.
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When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry weep weep weep weep. So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.
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The ruins of time build mansions in eternity.
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Pride is a personal commitment. It is an attitude which separates excellence from mediocrity.
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Better to shun the bait than struggle in the snare.
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But most thro' midnight streets I hear How the youthful Harlots curse Blasts the new-born Infants tear And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse
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Then my verse I dishonor, my pictures despise, my person degrade and my temper chastise and the pen is my terror, the pencil my shame and my talents I bury, and dead is my fame.
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The stars are threshed, and the souls are threshed from their husks.
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Can I see a falling tear, And not feel my sorrow's share?
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He who has suffered you to impose on him knows you.
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Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.
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No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings.
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If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thru chinks of his cavern.
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The Man who never in his Mind & Thoughts travel'd to Heaven Is No Artist.
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The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest.
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All futurity seems teeming with endless destruction never to be repelled Desperate remorse swallows the present in a quenchless rage.
William Blake