Quote

Why stand we here trembling around, calling on God for help, and not ourselves, in whom God dwells?

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
Stand
Help
Helping
Around
Dwells
Trembling
God
Calling

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The vision of Christ that thou dost see is my vision's greatest enemy . Both read the Bible day and night, but thou read'st black where I read white. His seventy disciples sent against religion and government .
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To generalize is to be an idiot. To particularize is the alone distinction of merit. General knowledge are those knowledge that idiots possess.
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The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God.
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You become what you behold.
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The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship.
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Prisons are built with stones of Law. Brothels with the bricks of religion.
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Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves the feet of angels bright unseen they pour blessing, and joy without ceasing, on each bud and blossom, and each sleeping bosom.
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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.
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Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me: Pipe a song about a Lamb. So I piped with merry cheer Piper, pipe that song again. So I piped he wept to hear.
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Eternity is in love with the productions of time.
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As a man is, so he sees.
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Every harlot was a virgin once.
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To the eyes of a miser a guinea is more beautiful than the sun, and a bag worn with the use of money has more beautiful proportions than a vine filled with grapes.
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Men are admitted into heaven not because they have curbed or governed their passions, but because they have cultivate their understandings.
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The eye altering, alters all.
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Drive your cart and plow over the bones of the dead.
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Some are born to sweet delight, Some are born to endless night.
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For I dance And drink and sing, Till some blind hand Shall brush my wing. If thought is life And strength and breath And the want Of thought is death Then am I A happy fly If I live Or if I die
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The busy bee has no time for sorrow.
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