Quote

Little fly, thy summer's play My thoughtless hand has brushed away. Am not I a fly like thee? Or art not thou a man like me? For I dance and drink and sing, Till some blind hand shall brush my wing!

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
Away
Sing
Thoughtless
Art
Blind
Brush
Hands
Summer
Brushes
Littles
Dance
Wing
Little
Drink
Till
Play
Shall
Thou
Men
Animal
Thee
Like
Hand
Wings
Brushed

More quotes by William Blake

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Dip him in the river who loves water.
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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 would do good to another must do it in minute particulars.
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When Sir Joshua Reynolds died All Nature was degraded The King dropped a tear in the Queen's ear, And all his pictures faded.
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The Stolen and Perverted Writings of Homer & Ovid, of Plato & Cicero, which all men ought to contemn, are set up by artifice against the Sublime of the Bible
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Let every Christian, as much as in him lies, engage himself openly and publicly, before all the World, in some mental pursuit for the Building up of Jerusalem.
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And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds and binding with briars my joys and desires. (from 'The Garden of Love')
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Tools were made and born were hands, Every farmer understands.
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The soul of sweet delight, can never be defiled.
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Such, such were the joys When we all, girls and boys, In our youth time were seen On the Echoing Green.
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The vision of Christ that thou dost see Is my vision's greatest enemy.
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Grown old in love from seven till seven times seven,I oft have wished for Hell for ease from Heaven.
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I am under the direction of messengers from Heaven daily and nightly.
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He who desires, but acts not, breeds pestilence.
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As we are, so we see.
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The fields from Islington to Marybone, To Primrose Hill and Saint John's Wood, Were builded over with pillars of gold And there Jerusalem's pillars stood.
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The Errors of a Wise Man make your Rule Rather than the Perfections of a Fool.
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The Man who never in his Mind & Thoughts travel'd to Heaven Is No Artist.
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I love hanging and drawing and quartering Every bit as well as war and slaughtering.
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But most thro' midnight streets I hear How the youthful Harlots curse Blasts the new-born Infants tear And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse
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