Quote

You smile with pomp and rigor, you talk of benevolence and virtue I act with benevolence and virtue and get murdered time after time.

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
Talk
Religion
Pomp
Feelings
Rigor
Time
Murdered
Benevolence
Piety
Smile
Virtue

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I am in you and you in me, mutual in divine love.
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Make your own rules or be a slave to another man's.
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He who has suffered you to impose on him knows you.
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Wisdom is sold in a desolate marketplace where none can come to buy.
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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 generations of men run on in the tide of time, but leave their destined lineaments permanent for ever and ever.
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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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This life's dim windows of the soul Distorts the heavens from pole to pole And leads you to believe a lie When you see with, not through, the eye.
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What is now proved was once only imagined.
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He who loves his enemies betrays his friends this surely is not what Jesus meant.
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You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.
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My silks and fine array, My smiles and languished air, By love are driv'n away And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave: Such end true lovers have.
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Every mortal loss is an immortal gain.
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The eye altering, alters all.
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The stars are threshed, and the souls are threshed from their husks.
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Auguries of innocence The emmet's inch and eagle's mile Make lame philosophy to smile. He who doubts from what he sees Will ne'er believe, do what you please.
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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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O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit Beneath my shady roof there thou may'st rest, And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe And all the daughters of the year shall dance! Sing now the lusty song of fruit and flowers.
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The man who never alters his opinions is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind.
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Joy and woe are woven fine.
William Blake