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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.

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
Read
Guide
Words
Iron
White
Guides
Write
Pass
Hands
Angel
Robed
Truth
Rock
Timorous
May
Rocks
Lofty
Writing
Hand
Pens

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And is he honest who resists his genius or conscience only for the sake of present ease or gratification
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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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Every thing possible to be believ'd is an image of truth.
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Mercy is the golden chain by which society is bound together.
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There is a place where Contrarieties are equally True.
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Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.
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You throw the sand against the wind and the wind blows it back again.
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Then the Parson might preach, & drink, & sing, And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring And modest dame Lurch, who is always at Church, Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch.
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He who pretends to be either painter or engraver without being a master of drawing is an imposter.
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Harmony of colouring is destructive of art? it is like the smile of a fool.
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The human mind cannot go beyond the gift of God, the Holy Ghost. To suppose that art can go beyond the finest specimens of art that are now in the world is not knowing what art is it is being blind to the gifts of the spirit.
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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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Naught can deform the human race Like to the armor's iron brace.
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In your own bosom you bear your heaven and earth, And all you behold, though it appears without, It is within, in your imagination, Of which this world of mortality is but a shadow.
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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?
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I must create a system, or be enslav'd by another man's.
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One law for the lion and ox is oppression.
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The Bat that flits at close of Eve Has left the Brain that won't believe. The Owl that calls upon the Night Speaks the Unbeliever's fright.
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As the caterpillar chooses the fairest leaves to lay her eggs on, so the priest lays his curse on the fairest joys.
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Man was made for joy and woe, and when this we rightly know through the world we safely go. Joy and woe are woven fine, a clothing for the soul to bind.
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