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All futurity seems teeming with endless destruction never to be repelled Desperate remorse swallows the present in a quenchless rage.

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
Rage
Endless
Destruction
Futurity
Present
Repelled
Future
Teeming
Seems
Swallows
Never
Remorse
Desperate

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Listen to the fool's reproach! It is a kingly title!
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Every Night and every Morn Some to Misery are born. Every Morn and every Night Some are born to Sweet Delight, Some are born to Endless Night.
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He who pretends to be either painter or engraver without being a master of drawing is an imposter.
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You smile with pomp and rigor, you talk of benevolence and virtue I act with benevolence and virtue and get murdered time after time.
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Desperate remorse swallows the present in a quenchless rage.
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Jesus & his apostles & disciples were all artists
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Innocence dwells with Wisdom, but never with ignorance.
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The eye altering, alters all.
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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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O God, protect me from my friends, that they have not power over me. Thou hast giv'n me power to protect myself from thy bitterest enemies.
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O white-robed Angel, guide my timorous hand to write as on a lofty rock with iron pen the words of truth, that all who pass may read.
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We are led to believe a lie When we see not through the eye.
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As a man is, so he sees. As the eye is formed, such are its powers.
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If a thing loves, it is infinite.
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Works of Art can only be produc'd in Perfection where the Man is either in Affluence or is Above the Care of it.
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A skylark wounded in the wing, / A cherubim does cease to sing.
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Can I see another's woe, And not be in sorrow too? Can I see another's grief, And not seek for kind relief? Can I see a falling tear, And not feel my sorrow's share? Can a father see his child Weep, nor be with sorrow filled? Can a mother sit and hear An infant groan, an infant fear? No, no! never can it be! Never, never can it be!
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The grave is Heaven's golden gate, And rich and poor around it wait O Shepherdess of England's fold, Behold this gate of pearl and gold!
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If you cannot imagine with the mind's eye much more than you can see with the mortal eye, you have a very poor imagination indeed.
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Do what you will this life's a fiction, And is made up of contradiction.
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