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You throw the sand against the wind and the wind blows it back again.

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
Blows
Sand
Throw
Blow
Wind
Back

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Improvement makes strait roads, but the crooked roads without Improvement, are roads of Genius.
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He who loves his enemies betrays his friends this surely is not what Jesus meant.
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The imagination is not a state: it is the human existence itself.
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And is he honest who resists his genius or conscience only for the sake of present ease or gratification
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The moon, like a flower in heaven's high bower, with silent delight sits and smiles on the night.
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Poetry fettered, fetters the human race. Nations are destroyed or flourish in proportion as their poetry, painting, and music are destroyed or flourish.
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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 foundation of empire is art and science. Remove them or degrade them, and the empire is no more. Empire follows art and not vice versa as Englishmen suppose.
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Forgive what you do not approve & love me for this energetic exertion of my talent
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Mercy, pity, and peace, Are the world's release.
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Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds Kiss thy perfumed garments let us taste Thy morn and evening breath scatter thy pearls Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.
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Gratitude, in itself, is heaven.
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May God us keep From Single vision and Newton's sleep.
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Art can never exist without naked beauty displayed.
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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!
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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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I heard an Angel singing When the day was springing, Mercy, Pity, Peace Is the world's release.
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Mans desires are limited by his perceptions none can desire what he has not perceived.
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When the stars threw down their spears, and watered heaven with their tears, did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
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Man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.
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