Quote

The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,The humble sheep a threat'ning horn:While the Lily white shall in love delight,Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.

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
Love
Forth
Horn
Humble
Stains
Delight
Lilies
Rose
Horns
Threat
Modest
Ning
Shall
Sheep
Lily
Beauty
Puts
Stain
White
Bright
Thorn

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The moon, like a flower in heaven's high bower, with silent delight sits and smiles on the night.
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What seems to be, is, to those to whom it seems to be, and is productive of the most dreadful consequences to those to whom it seems to be, even of torments, despair, eternal death.
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Every Night and every Morn Some to Misery are born. Every Morn and every Night Some are born to Sweet Delight, Some are born to Endless Night.
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Improvement makes strait roads, but the crooked roads without Improvement, are roads of Genius.
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Joy and woe are woven fine.
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My mother groaned, my father wept, into the dangerous world I leapt.
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There is a place where Contrarieties are equally True.
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O why was I born with a different face? Why was I not born like the rest of my race?
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Love to faults is always blind, always is to joy inclined. Lawless, winged, and unconfined, and breaks all chains from every mind.
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He loves to sit and hear me sing, Then, laughing, sports and plays with me Then stretches out my golden wing, And mocks my loss of liberty.
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The man who never alters his opinions is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind.
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If others had not been foolish, we should be so.
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I cry, Love! Love! Love! happy happy Love! free as the mountain wind!
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The nakedness of woman is the work of God.
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No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings.
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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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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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It is not because angels are holier than men or devils that makes them angels, but because they do not expect holiness from one another, but from God only.
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He who would do good to another must do it in minute particulars.
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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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