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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
Trap
Traps
Goodness
Caught
Food
Without
Wholesome

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Kill not the moth nor butterfly, For the Last Judgement draweth nigh.
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Excessive sorrow laughs. Excessive joy weeps.
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To my eye Rubens' colouring is most contemptible. His shadows are a filthy brown somewhat the colour of excrement.
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Tools were made and born were hands, Every farmer understands.
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England! awake! awake! awake! Jerusalem thy sister calls! Why wilt thou sleep the sleep of death And close her from thy ancient walls?
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Everything to be imagined is an image of truth.
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Man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.
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A DIVINE IMAGE Cruelty has a human heart, And Jealousy a human face Terror the human form divine, And Secresy the human dress. The human dress is forged iron, The human form a fiery forge, The human face a furnace sealed, The human heart its hungry gorge.
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As we are, so we see.
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No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings.
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Expect poison from the standing water.
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Rhetoric completes the tools of learning. Dialectic zeros in on the logic of things, of particular systems of thought or subjects. Rhetoric takes the next grand step and brings all these subjects together into one whole.
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The lamb misused breeds public strife And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
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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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I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow.
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The Woman that does not love your Frowns Will never embrace your smiles.
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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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He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be beloved by men.
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God forbid that Truth should be confined to Mathematical Demonstration!
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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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