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All wholesome food is caught without a net or trap.

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
Food
Without
Wholesome
Trap
Traps
Goodness
Caught

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Forgive what you do not approve & love me for this energetic exertion of my talent
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You become what you behold.
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How can the bird that is born for joy Sit in a cage and sing? How can a child, when fears annoy, But droop his tender wing, And forget his youthful spring?
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Mercy, pity, and peace, Are the world's release.
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The mocker of Art is the mocker of Jesus.
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The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest.
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He whose face gives no light, shall never become a star.
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Knowledge is Life with wings
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We are here to learn to endure the beams of love
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Mere enthusiasm is the all in all.
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The best wine is the oldest, the best water the newest.
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A dead body revenges not injuries.
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Shame is pride's cloak.
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Then my verse I dishonor, my pictures despise, my person degrade and my temper chastise and the pen is my terror, the pencil my shame and my talents I bury, and dead is my fame.
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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.
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I rest not from my great task! | To open the Eternal Worlds, | to open the immortal Eyes of Man | Inwards into the Worlds of Thought | Into eternity, ever expanding | In the Bosom of God, | The Human Imagination
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Degrade first the Arts if you'd Mankind Degrade. Hire Idiots to Paint with cold light & hot shade: Give high Price for the worst, leave the best in disgrace, And with Labours of Ignorance fill every place.
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One Power alone makes a Poet: Imagination. The Divine Vision.
William Blake
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Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee?
William Blake
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How have you left the ancient love That bards of old enjoyed in you! The languid strings do scarcely move! The sound is forced, the notes are few!
William Blake