Quote

The Bat that flits at close of Eve Has left the Brain that won't believe. The Owl that calls upon the Night Speaks the Unbeliever's fright.

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
Fright
Speak
Left
Bats
Night
Speaks
Believe
Calls
Flits
Scary
Unbeliever
Close
Owl
Brain
Unbelievers
Upon

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The man who never alters his opinions is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind.
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Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty !
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LOVE'S SECRET Never seek to tell thy love, Love that never told can be For the gentle wind doth move Silently, invisibly. I told my love, I told my love, I told her all my heart, Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears. Ah! she did depart! Soon after she was gone from me, A traveller came by, Silently, invisibly: He took her with a sigh.
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He who has few things to desire cannot have many to fear.
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'Come hither, my boy, tell me what thou seest there?' 'A fool tangled in a religious snare.'
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When thou seest an eagle, thou seest a portion of genius lift up thy head!
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I cry, Love! Love! Love! happy happy Love! free as the mountain wind!
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For everything that lives is holy, life delights in life.
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Embraces are comminglings from the head even to the feet, And not a pompous high priest entering by a secret place.
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You've always had the power right there in your shoes, you just had to learn it for yourself.
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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 look of love alarms Because 'tis filled with fire But the look of soft deceit Shall win the lover's hire.
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I will not cease from mental fight Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand.
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The moon, like a flower in heaven's high bower, with silent delight sits and smiles on the night.
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When the doors of perception are cleansed, men will see things as they truly are, infinite.
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Excessive sorrow laughs. Excessive joy weeps.
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Mere enthusiasm is the all in all... / Passion and expression are beauty itself.
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If you, who are organised by Divine Providence for spiritual communion, refuse, and bury your talent in the earth, even though you should want natural bread, sorrow and desperation pursue you through life, and after death shame and confusion of face to eternity.
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Lo! now the direful monster, whose skin clings To his strong bones, strides o'er the groaning rocks: He withers all in silence, and his hand Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life.
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