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All the destruction in Christian Europe has arisen from deism, which is natural religion.
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
Deism
Arisen
Destruction
Europe
Religion
Christian
Natural
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Excessive sorrow laughs. Excessive joy weeps.
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The world of imagination is the world of eternity.
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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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Although wine when it is read somewhat lacks the savour of wine when it is drunk, wine remains a very pleasant thing both to read about and to chat about.
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It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted.
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What has reason to do with the art of painting?
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Wisdom is sold in a desolate marketplace where none can come to buy.
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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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How sweet I roamed from field to field, And tasted all the summer's pride, Till I the prince of love beheld, Who in the sunny beams did glide!
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Without minute neatness of execution, the sublime cannot exist! Grandeur of ideas is founded on precision of ideas.
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And is he honest who resists his genius or conscience only for the sake of present ease or gratification
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Father, O father! what do we here In this land of unbelief and fear?
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Better to shun the bait than struggle in the snare.
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I cry, Love! Love! Love! happy happy Love! free as the mountain wind!
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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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And I made a rural pen, And I stained the water clear, And I wrote my happy songs Every Child may joy to hear.
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Every mortal loss is an immortal gain.
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Eternity is in love with the productions of time.
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Sweet babe, in thy face Soft desires I can trace, Secret joys and secret smiles, Little pretty infant wiles.
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And did those feet in ancient time Walk upon England's mountains green? And was the holy Lamb of God On England's pleasant pastures seen?
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