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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
Soul
Husks
Souls
Stars

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Bring me an axe and spade, Bring me a winding-sheet When I my grave have made Let winds and tempests beat: Then down I'll lie as cold as clay. True love doth pass away!
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When nations grow old the Arts grow cold And commerce settles on every tree
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Why cannot the ear be closed to its own destruction? Or the glistening eye to the poison of a smile?
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Art can never exist without naked beauty displayed.
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I care not whether a man is good or evil all that I care / Is whether he is a wise man or a fool. Go! put off holiness, / And put on intellect.
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Improvement makes strait roads, but the crooked roads without Improvement, are roads of Genius.
William Blake
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I asked a thief to steal me a peach: He turned up his eyes. I asked a lithe lady to lie her down: Holy and meek, she cries. As soon as I went An angel came. He winked at the thief And smiled at the dame- And without one word spoke Had a peach from the tree, And 'twixt earnest and joke Enjoyed the lady.
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We are led to believe a lie When we see not through the eye.
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What is the price of experience? Do men buy it for a song? Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the price of all the man hath, his house, his wife, his children.
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Every man who is not an artist is a traitor to his own nature.
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Mutual forgiveness of each vice. Such are the Gates of Paradise.
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Art degraded, Imagination denied.
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I see through my eyes, not with them.
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Kill not the moth nor butterfly, For the Last Judgement draweth nigh.
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Why stand we here trembling around, calling on God for help, and not ourselves, in whom God dwells?
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Forgive what you do not approve & love me for this energetic exertion of my talent
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Fun I love, but too much fun is of all things the most loathsome. Mirth is better than fun, and happiness is better than mirth.
William Blake
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Ah, sunflower, weary of time, Who countest the steps of the sun, Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller's journey is done Where the youth pined away with desire And the pale virgin shrouded in snow Arise from their graves, and aspire Where my sunflower wishes to go.
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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.
William Blake
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The moon, like a flower in heaven's high bower, with silent delight sits and smiles on the night.
William Blake