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Gratitude is heaven 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
Thanksgiving
Gratitude
Heaven

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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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Love seeketh only self to please, To bind another to its delight, Joys in another's loss of ease, And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite.
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Without minute neatness of execution, the sublime cannot exist! Grandeur of ideas is founded on precision of ideas.
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I love hanging and drawing and quartering Every bit as well as war and slaughtering.
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He who makes his law a curse, by his own law shall surely die.
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He who kisses joy as it flies by will live in eternity's sunrise.
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Does a firm persuasion that a thing is so, make it so? He replied, All poets believe it does. And in ages of imagination, this firm persuasion removes mountains but many are not capable of firm persuasion of anything.
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Expect poison from the standing water.
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Nothing can be more contemptible than to suppose Public Records to be true.
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Art can never exist without naked beauty displayed.
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Harmony of colouring is destructive of art? it is like the smile of a fool.
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Christ's crucifix shall be made an excuse for executing criminals.
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Grown old in love from seven till seven times seven,I oft have wished for Hell for ease from Heaven.
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It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted.
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Knowledge is Life with wings
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But to go to school in a summer morn, O! It drives all joy away Under a cruel eye outworn, The little ones spend the day In sighing and dismay.
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The Sick Rose O Rose, thou art sick. The invisible worm That flies in the night In the howling storm Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy, And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy.
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Celebrate your existence!
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Some are born to sweet delight, Some are born to endless night.
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Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee?
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