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A skylark wounded in the wing, / A cherubim does cease to sing.
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
Wounded
Cease
Wings
Sing
Singing
Skylark
Doe
Cherubim
Skylarks
Wing
More quotes by William Blake
Love seeketh not itself to please, nor for itself hath any care, but for another gives its ease, and builds a Heaven in Hell's despair.
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He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be beloved by men.
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If you would help another man, you must do so in minute particulars.
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Knowledge is Life with wings
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Love is weak when there is more doubt than there is trust, but love is most strong when you learn to trust even with all the doubts. If a thing loves, it is infinite.
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For the Eye altering alters all The Senses roll themselves in fear And the flat Earth becomes a Ball.
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The roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the stormy sea, and the destructive sword, are portions of eternity, too great for the eye of man.
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Pity would be no more, If we did not make somebody poor. Mercy no more could be, If all were happy as we.
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Why stand we here trembling around, calling on God for help, and not ourselves, in whom God dwells?
William Blake
The best wine is the oldest, the best water the newest.
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The Errors of a Wise Man make your Rule Rather than the Perfections of a Fool.
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Opposition is true friendship.
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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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I have conversed with the spiritual Sun. I saw him on Primrose Hill
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Naught can deform the human race Like to the armor's iron brace.
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Time is the Mercy of Eternity
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Knowledge of ideal beauty is not to be acquired. It is born with us. Innate ideas are in every man, born with him theyare truly himself.
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What seems to be, is, to those to whom it seems to be, and is productive of the most dreadful consequences to those to whom it seems to be, even of torments, despair, eternal death.
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And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds and binding with briars my joys and desires. (from 'The Garden of Love')
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I cry, Love! Love! Love! happy happy Love! free as the mountain wind!
William Blake
