Quote

'Come hither, my boy, tell me what thou seest there?' 'A fool tangled in a religious snare.'

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
Boys
Religious
Hither
Tell
Snare
Come
Snares
Tangled
Thou
Atheism
Fool

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It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.
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The true method of knowledge is experiment.
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The spirits of the air live on the smells Of fruit and joy, with pinions light, roves round The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.
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Nature in darkness groans and men are bound to sullen contemplation in the night: restless they turn on beds of sorrow in their inmost brain feeling the crushing wheels, they rise, they write the bitter words of stern philosophy and knead the bread of knowledge with tears and groans.
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Naught can deform the human race Like to the armor's iron brace.
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Harmony of colouring is destructive of art? it is like the smile of a fool.
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The fox condemns the trap, not himself.
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Does a firm persuasion that a thing is so, make it so? He replied, All poets believe it does. And in ages of imagination, this firm persuasion removes mountains but many are not capable of firm persuasion of anything.
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We are led to believe a lie When we see not through the eye.
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A dead body revenges not injuries.
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Imagination is the real and eternal world of which this vegetable universe is but a faint shadow.
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I am going to that country which I have all my life wished to see.
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On no other ground Can I sow my seed Without tearing up Some stinking weed.
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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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Desperate remorse swallows the present in a quenchless rage.
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What is now proved was once only imagined.
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Every thing possible to be believ'd is an image of truth.
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A dog starv'd at the master's gate Predicts the ruin of the State. A horse misus'd upon the road Calls to heaven for human blood. Each outcry of the hunted hare A fibre from the brain does tear, A skylark wounded on the wing, A cherubim does cease to sing.
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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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To generalize is to be an idiot.
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