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Where any view of money exists, art cannot be carried on.

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
Carried
Exists
View
Views
Art
Money
Cannot

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One law for the lion and ox is oppression.
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If you, who are organised by Divine Providence for spiritual communion, refuse, and bury your talent in the earth, even though you should want natural bread, sorrow and desperation pursue you through life, and after death shame and confusion of face to eternity.
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God appears, and God is Light, to those poor souls who dwell in Night but does a Human Form display to those who dwell in realms of Day.
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She who dwells with me whom I have loved with such communion, that no place on earth can ever be solitude to me.
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'Come hither, my boy, tell me what thou seest there?' 'A fool tangled in a religious snare.'
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Never seek to tell thy love Love that never told can be. For the gentle wind does move silently.. invisibly.
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My mother bore me in the southern wild, And I am black, but O! my soul is white White as an angel is the English child, But I am black as if bereaved of light.
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To be an Error and to be Cast out is a part of God's Design.
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If the lion was advised by the fox, he would be cunning.
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Ages are All Equal. / But Genius is Always Above The Age.
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If the Sun and Moon should ever doubt, they'd immediately go out.
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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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Life delights in life.
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I will not cease from mental fight Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand.
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Sweet babe, in thy face Soft desires I can trace, Secret joys and secret smiles, Little pretty infant wiles.
William Blake
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O thou who passest through our valleys in Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat That flames from their large nostrils! Thou, O Summer, Oft pitchest here thy golden tent, and oft Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld With joy thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.
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Every man who is not an artist is a traitor to his own nature.
William Blake
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My mother groaned, my father wept, into the dangerous world I leapt.
William Blake
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Do what you will this life's a fiction, And is made up of contradiction.
William Blake
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Can I see a falling tear, And not feel my sorrow's share?
William Blake