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The stars are threshed, and the souls are threshed from their husks.
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
Husks
Souls
Stars
Soul
More quotes by William Blake
'Come hither, my boy, tell me what thou seest there?' 'A fool tangled in a religious snare.'
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The lamb misused breeds public strife And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
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Tools were made and born were hands, Every farmer understands.
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It is not because angels are holier than men or devils that makes them angels, but because they do not expect holiness from one another, but from God only.
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But when he has done this, let him not say that he knows better than his master, for he only holds a candle in sunshine.
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A dog starv'd at the master's gate Predicts the ruin of the State. A horse misus'd upon the road Calls to heaven for human blood. Each outcry of the hunted hare A fibre from the brain does tear, A skylark wounded on the wing, A cherubim does cease to sing.
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Although wine when it is read somewhat lacks the savour of wine when it is drunk, wine remains a very pleasant thing both to read about and to chat about.
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I am going to that country which I have all my life wished to see.
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I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow.
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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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He who kisses joy as it flies by will live in eternity's sunrise.
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Every man who is not an artist is a traitor to his own nature.
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All wholesome food is caught without a net or trap.
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And I watered it in fears, Night and morning with my tears And I sunned it with smiles, And with soft deceitful wiles.
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Where there is money there is no art.
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He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be beloved by men.
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Pride is a personal commitment. It is an attitude which separates excellence from mediocrity.
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Every tear from every eyeBecomes a babe in eternity.
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To create a little flower is the labour of ages.
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The Bat that flits at close of Eve Has left the Brain that won't believe. The Owl that calls upon the Night Speaks the Unbeliever's fright.
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