Quote

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.

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
Mother
Bores
Light
Southern
Soul
Wild
Children
English
Angel
Child
White
Bereaved
Black
Bore

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God forbid that Truth should be confined to Mathematical Demonstration!
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The fields from Islington to Marybone, To Primrose Hill and Saint John's Wood, Were builded over with pillars of gold And there Jerusalem's pillars stood.
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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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The pride of the peacock is the glory of God.
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I give you the end of a golden string, Only wind it into a ball, It will lead you in at Heaven's gate Built in Jerusalem's wall.
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Want of money and the distress of a thief can never be alleged as the cause of his thieving, for many honest people endure greater hardships with fortitude. We must therefore seek the cause elsewhere than in want of money, for that is the miser's passion, not the thief s.
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The Woman that does not love your Frowns Will never embrace your smiles.
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He who desires, but acts not, breeds pestilence.
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If the Sun and Moon should ever doubt, they'd immediately go out.
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The inquiry in England is not whether a man has talents and genius, but whether he is passive and polite and a virtuous ass and obedient to noblemen's opinions in art and science. If he is, he is a good man. If not, he must be starved.
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For all eternity, I forgive you and you forgive me.
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The Man who never in his Mind & Thoughts travel'd to Heaven Is No Artist.
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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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To some people a tree is something so incredibly beautiful that it brings tears to the eyes. To others it is just a green thing that stands in the way.
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Every man who is not an artist is a traitor to his own nature.
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The difference between a bad artist and a good one is: the bad artist seems to copy a great deal the good one really does.
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I heard an Angel singing When the day was springing, Mercy, Pity, Peace Is the world's release.
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Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained.
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Without Unceasing Practice nothing can be done. Practice is Art. If you leave off you are lost.
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Naught can deform the human race Like to the armor's iron brace.
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