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When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry weep weep weep weep. So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.

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
Sold
Tongue
Cry
Died
Soot
Sleep
Chimneys
Father
Sweep
Mother
Scarcely
Young
Weep

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The ancient Poets animated all sensible objects with Gods or Geniuses, calling them by the names and adorning them with the properties of woods, rivers, mountains, lakes, cities, nations, and whatever their enlarged & numerous senses could perceive.
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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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More! More! is the cry of a mistaken soul.
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The hand of Vengeance found the Bed To which the Purple Tyrant fled The iron hand crush'd the tyrant's head And became Tyrant in his stead.
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Both read the Bible day and night, but thou read black where I read white.
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Thy friendship oft has made my heart to ache: do be my enemy for friendship's sake.
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The worship of God is, Honouring his gifts in other men each according to his genius, and loving the greatest men best those who envy or calumniate great men hate God, for there is no other God.
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The most sublime act is to set another before you.
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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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Thou art a man God is no more Thy own humanity Learn to adore
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How do you know but ev’ry Bird that cuts the airy way, Is an immense world of delight, clos’d by your senses five?
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There can be no Good Will. Will is always Evil it is persecution to others or selfishness.
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The Man who never in his Mind & Thoughts travel'd to Heaven Is No Artist.
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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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Invention depends altogether upon execution or organization as that is right or wrong so is the invention perfect or imperfect.
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Some will say, Is not God alone the Prolific? I answer, God only Acts & Is, in existing beings or Men.
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To the eyes of a miser a guinea is more beautiful than the sun, and a bag worn with the use of money has more beautiful proportions than a vine filled with grapes.
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You cannot have Liberty in this world without what you call Moral Virtue, and you cannot have Moral Virtue without the slavery of that half of the human race who hate what you call Moral Virtue.
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Tools were made and born were hands, Every farmer understands.
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Poetry fettered, fetters the human race. Nations are destroyed or flourish in proportion as their poetry, painting, and music are destroyed or flourish.
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