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Man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.
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
Men
Infinity
Narrow
Closed
Till
Sees
Cavern
Perception
Thro
Seeing
Chinks
Things
Caverns
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The Whole Business of Man is The Arts, & All Things Common.
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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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The cut worm forgives the plow.
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Celebrate your existence!
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May God us keep From Single vision and Newton's sleep.
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Those who enter the gates of heaven are not beings who have no passions or who have curbed the passions, but those who have cultivated an understanding of them.
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When the stars threw down their spears, and watered heaven with their tears, did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
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He who desires, but acts not, breeds pestilence.
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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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I'm sure this Jesus will not do Either for Englishman or Jew.
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The lust of the goat is the bounty of God.
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The cistern contains: The fountain overflows.
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Fun I love, but too much fun is of all things the most loathsome. Mirth is better than fun, and happiness is better than mirth.
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Some say that happiness is not good for mortals, & they ought to be answered that sorrow is not fit for immortals & is utterly useless to any one a blight never does good to a tree, & if a blight kill not a tree but it still bear fruit, let none say that the fruit was in consequence of the blight.
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The fox condemns the trap, not himself.
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Nature in darkness groans and men are bound to sullen contemplation in the night: restless they turn on beds of sorrow in their inmost brain feeling the crushing wheels, they rise, they write the bitter words of stern philosophy and knead the bread of knowledge with tears and groans.
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All wholesome food is caught without a net or trap.
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Like a fiend in a cloud, With howling woe, After night I do crowd, And with night will go I turn my back to the east, From whence comforts have increased For light doth seize my brain With frantic pain.
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The crow wished everything was black, the Owl, that everything was white.
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Always be ready to speak your mind, and a base man will avoid you.
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