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Mercy, Pity, Peace Is the world's release.

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
Release
Pity
Mercy
Peace
World

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Sweet babe, in thy face Soft desires I can trace, Secret joys and secret smiles, Little pretty infant wiles.
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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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To some people a tree is something so incredibly beautiful that it brings tears to the eyes. To others it is just a green thing that stands in the way.
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He who does not imagine in stronger and better lineaments, and in stronger and better light than his perishing and mortal eye can see, does not imagine at all.
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As a man is, so he sees. As the eye is formed, such are its powers.
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The apple tree never asks the beech how he shall grow, nor the lion, the horse, how he shall take his prey.
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To my eye Rubens' colouring is most contemptible. His shadows are a filthy brown somewhat the colour of excrement.
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A good local pub has much in common with a church, except that a pub is warmer, and there's more conversation.
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Make your own rules or be a slave to another man's.
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Poetry, Painting & Music, the three Powers in man of conversing with Paradise, which the flood did not sweep away.
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The spirits of the air live on the smells Of fruit and joy, with pinions light, roves round The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.
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As I was walking among the fires of Hell, delighted with the enjoyments of Genius which to Angels look like torment and insanity, I collected some of their Proverbs.
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Christianity is art and not money. Money is its curse.
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Poetry fettered, fetters the human race. Nations are destroyed or flourish in proportion as their poetry, painting, and music are destroyed or flourish.
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The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest.
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The little ones leaped, and shouted, and laugh'd And all the hills echoed
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Pay attention to minute particulars. Take care of the little ones. Generalization and abstraction are the plea of the hypocrite, scoundrel, and knave.
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I asked a thief to steal me a peach: He turned up his eyes. I asked a lithe lady to lie her down: Holy and meek, she cries. As soon as I went An angel came. He winked at the thief And smiled at the dame- And without one word spoke Had a peach from the tree, And 'twixt earnest and joke Enjoyed the lady.
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Listen to the fool's reproach! It is a kingly title!
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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.
William Blake