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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
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He who has few things to desire cannot have many to fear.
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The Whole Business of Man is The Arts, & All Things Common.
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I see through my eyes, not with them.
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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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Celebrate your existence!
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In every cry of every man, In every infant's cry of fear, In every voice, in every ban, The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.
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Down the winding cavern we groped our tedious way, till a void boundless as the nether sky appeared beneath us, and we held by the roots of trees and hung over this immensity but I said: if you please we will commit ourselves to this void and see whether providence is here also.
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The ignorant Insults of Individuals will not hinder me from doing my duty to my Art
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Those who enter the gates of heaven are not beings who have no passions or who have curbed the passions, but those who have cultivated an understanding of them.
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General good is the plea of the scoundrel, hypocite, flatterer.
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Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
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The lust of the goat is the bounty of God.
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I am going to that country which I have all my life wished to see.
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The pride of the peacock is the glory of God.
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I must create a system or be enslaved by another mans I will not reason and compare: my business is to create.
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Eternity is in love with the productions of time.
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Travelers repose and dream among my leaves.
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'Come hither, my boy, tell me what thou seest there?' 'A fool tangled in a religious snare.'
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Man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.
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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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