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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.

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
Marriage
Loved
Place
Earth
Ever
Dwells
Communion
Solitude

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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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The eye altering, alters all.
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Thou art a man God is no more Thy own humanity Learn to adore
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The gulfing whale was like a dot in the spell. Yet look upon it, and 'twould size and swell To its huge self, and the minutest fish Would pass the very hardest gazer's wish, And show his little eye's anatomy.
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Where others see but the dawn coming over the hill, I see the soul of God shouting for joy.
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We are here to learn to endure the beams of love
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Listen to the fool's reproach! It is a kingly title!
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Where there is money there is no art.
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The nakedness of woman is the work of God.
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But most thro' midnight streets I hear How the youthful Harlots curse Blasts the new-born Infants tear And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse
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As I was walking among the fires of Hell, delighted with the enjoyments of Genius which to Angels look like torment and insanity, I collected some of their Proverbs.
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If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thru chinks of his cavern.
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Kill not the moth nor butterfly, For the Last Judgement draweth nigh.
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The true method of knowledge is experiment.
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A dog starved at his master's gate Predicts the ruin of the state.
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Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,Dreaming o'er the joys of night.Sleep, sleep: in thy sleepLittle sorrows sit and weep.
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We are led to believe a lie When we see not through the eye.
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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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The Errors of a Wise Man make your Rule Rather than the Perfections of a Fool.
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A musician, an artist, an architect: the man or woman who is not one of these is not a Christian.
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