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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.
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
Minutes
Hypocrite
Attention
Abstraction
Knave
Care
Hypocrisy
Scoundrel
Littles
Complexity
Plea
Little
Minute
Particulars
Take
Chaos
Knaves
Pay
Generalization
Ones
Scoundrels
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The Man who never in his Mind & Thoughts travel'd to Heaven Is No Artist.
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Enthusiastic Admiration is the first Principle of Knowledge and its last.
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When I tell the truth, it is not for the sake of convincing those who do not know it, but for the sake of defending those that do.
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O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit Beneath my shady roof there thou may'st rest, And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe And all the daughters of the year shall dance! Sing now the lusty song of fruit and flowers.
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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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The little ones leaped, and shouted, and laugh'd And all the hills echoed
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Active Evil is better than Passive Good.
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Mysteries are not to be solved. They eye goes blind when it only wants to see why.
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I am in you and you in me, mutual in divine love.
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My mother bore me in the southern wild, And I am black, but O! my soul is white White as an angel is the English child, But I am black as if bereaved of light.
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For everything exists and not one sigh nor smile nor tear, one hair nor particle of dust, not one can pass away.
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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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More! More! is the cry of a mistaken soul.
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My Brother starv'd between two Walls,His Children's Cry my Soul appalls
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What has reasoning to do with painting?
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My silks and fine array, My smiles and languished air, By love are driv'n away And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave: Such end true lovers have.
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