Quote

Bring me my bow of burning gold: Bring me my arrows of desire: Bring me my spear: O clouds, unfold! Bring me my chariot of fire.

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
Arrows
Bows
Burning
Clouds
Chariot
Gold
Spear
Bring
Chariots
Fire
Unfold
Desire
Spears

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Man was made for joy and woe, and when this we rightly know through the world we safely go. Joy and woe are woven fine, a clothing for the soul to bind.
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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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Joys impregnate. Sorrows bring forth.
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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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Work up imagination to the state of vision.
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If Christianity was morality, Socrates would be the Saviour.
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In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.
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Every harlot was a virgin once.
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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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Innocence dwells with Wisdom, but never with ignorance.
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God keep me from the divinity of Yes and Nothe Yea Nay Creeping Jesus, from supposing Up and Down to be the same thing as allexperimentalists must suppose.
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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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Wisdom is sold in a desolate marketplace where none can come to buy.
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Prepare your hearts for Death's cold hand! prepare Your souls for flight, your bodies for the earth Prepare your arms for glorious victory Prepare your eyes to meet a holy God! Prepare, prepare!
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Love is weak when there is more doubt than there is trust, but love is most strong when you learn to trust even with all the doubts. If a thing loves, it is infinite.
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The stars are threshed, and the souls are threshed from their husks.
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A dead body revenges not injuries.
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To Mercy, Pity, Peace and Love All pray in their distress, And to these virtues of delight Return their thankfulness.
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The busy bee has no time for sorrow.
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