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Joys impregnate. Sorrows bring forth.

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
Impregnate
Sorrows
Joys
Forth
Sorrow
Joy
Bring

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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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The true method of knowledge is experiment.
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He loves to sit and hear me sing, Then, laughing, sports and plays with me Then stretches out my golden wing, And mocks my loss of liberty.
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I have no name: I am but two days old. What shall I call thee? I happy am, Joy is my name. Sweet joy befall thee!
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Life delights in life.
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Always be ready to speak your mind, and a base man will avoid you.
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As a man is, so he sees.
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Gratitude is heaven itself.
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I give you the end of a golden string, Only wind it into a ball, It will lead you in at Heaven's gate Built in Jerusalem's wall.
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The person who does not believe in miracles surely makes it certain that he or she will never take part in one.
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The Fool shall not enter into Heaven let him be ever so Holy.
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First thought is best in Art, second in other matters.
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For the Eye altering alters all The Senses roll themselves in fear And the flat Earth becomes a Ball.
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All wholesome food is caught without a net or trap.
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Imagination is the real and eternal world of which this vegetable universe is but a faint shadow.
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Knowledge of ideal beauty is not to be acquired. It is born with us. Innate ideas are in every man, born with him theyare truly himself.
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What is grand is necessarily obscure to weak men. That which can be made explicit to the idiot is not worth my care.
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I rest not from my great task! | To open the Eternal Worlds, | to open the immortal Eyes of Man | Inwards into the Worlds of Thought | Into eternity, ever expanding | In the Bosom of God, | The Human Imagination
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Does the Eagle know what is in the pit Or wilt thou go ask the Mole? Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod, Or Love in a golden bowl?
William Blake
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Why stand we here trembling around, calling on God for help, and not ourselves, in whom God dwells?
William Blake