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On no other ground Can I sow my seed Without tearing up Some stinking weed.

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
Stinking
Tearing
Seed
Weed
Seeds
Ground
Without

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I was in a Printing-house in Hell, and saw the method in which knowledge is transmitted from generation to generation.
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I am more famed in Heaven for my works than I could well conceive. In my brain are studies & chambers filled with books & pictures of old, which I wrote and painted in ages of Eternity before my mortal life and whose works are the delight & study of Archangels. Why, then, should I be anxious about the riches or fame of mortality?
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Work up imagination to the state of vision.
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If a thing loves, it is infinite.
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I have conversed with the spiritual Sun. I saw him on Primrose Hill
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I am going to that country which I have all my life wished to see.
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As a man is, so he sees.
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I see the Past, Present & Future existing all at once Before me.
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Some will say, Is not God alone the Prolific? I answer, God only Acts & Is, in existing beings or Men.
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Active Evil is better than Passive Good.
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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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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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Thinking as I do that the Creator of this world is a very cruel being, and being a worshipper of Christ, I cannot help saying: ''the Son, O how unlike the Father!'' First God Almighty comes with a thump on the head. Then Jesus Christ comes with a balm to heal it.
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A skylark wounded in the wing, / A cherubim does cease to sing.
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Where cheating is, there's mischief there.
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He who would do good to another must do it in minute particulars.
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I thought Love lived in the hot sunshine, But O, he lives in the moony light! I thought to find Love in the heat of day, But sweet Love is the comforter of night.
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Commerce is so far from being beneficial to arts, or to empire, that it is destructive of both, as all their history shows, for the above reason of individual merit being its great hatred. Empires flourish till they become commercial, and then they are scattered abroad to the four winds.
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If you trap the moment before it's ripe, The tears of repentence you'll certainly wipe But if once you let the ripe moment go You can never wipe off the tears of woe.
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And we are put on earth a little space, That we may learn to bear the beams of love.
William Blake