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The Stolen and Perverted Writings of Homer & Ovid, of Plato & Cicero, which all men ought to contemn, are set up by artifice against the Sublime of the Bible

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
Plato
Stolen
Contemn
Sublime
Ovid
Bible
Cicero
Ought
Perverted
Writing
Homer
Men
Artifice
Writings

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When the voices of children are heard on the greenAnd laughing is heard on the hill,My heart is at rest within my breastAnd everything else is still.
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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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The vision of Christ that thou dost see Is my vision's greatest enemy.
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The Old and New Testaments are the Great Code of Art.
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When Sir Joshua Reynolds died All Nature was degraded
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He who has suffered you to impose on him knows you.
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'Come hither, my boy, tell me what thou seest there?' 'A fool tangled in a religious snare.'
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Harmony of colouring is destructive of art? it is like the smile of a fool.
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Art is the tree of life. Science is the tree of death.
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Embraces are comminglings from the head even to the feet, And not a pompous high priest entering by a secret place.
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Mere enthusiasm is the all in all... / Passion and expression are beauty itself.
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England! awake! awake! awake! Jerusalem thy sister calls! Why wilt thou sleep the sleep of death And close her from thy ancient walls?
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Why a tender curb upon the youthful burning boy? Why a little curtain of flesh on the bed of our desire?
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None but blockheads copy each other.
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The ignorant Insults of Individuals will not hinder me from doing my duty to my Art
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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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A DIVINE IMAGE Cruelty has a human heart, And Jealousy a human face Terror the human form divine, And Secresy the human dress. The human dress is forged iron, The human form a fiery forge, The human face a furnace sealed, The human heart its hungry gorge.
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Why stand we here trembling around, calling on God for help, and not ourselves, in whom God dwells?
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Bring me my bow of burning gold: Bring me my arrows of desire: Bring me my spear: O clouds, unfold! Bring me my chariot of fire.
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Lives in eternity's sun rise.
William Blake