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If you cannot imagine with the mind's eye much more than you can see with the mortal eye, you have a very poor imagination indeed.
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
Much
Mortal
Mind
Mortals
Indeed
Imagination
Imagine
Poor
Eye
Cannot
More quotes by William Blake
May God us keep From Single vision and Newton's sleep.
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He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be beloved by men.
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The roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the stormy sea, and the destructive sword, are portions of eternity, too great for the eye of man.
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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 stars are threshed, and the souls are threshed from their husks.
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In the universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown, and in between, there are doors.
William Blake
But when he has done this, let him not say that he knows better than his master, for he only holds a candle in sunshine.
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Art is the tree of life. Science is the tree of death.
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Since the French Revolution Englishmen are all intermeasurable one by another, certainly a happy state of agreement to which I forone do not agree.
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The little ones leaped, and shouted, and laugh'd And all the hills echoed
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Little fly, thy summer's play My thoughtless hand has brushed away. Am not I a fly like thee? Or art not thou a man like me? For I dance and drink and sing, Till some blind hand shall brush my wing!
William Blake
Why stand we here trembling around, calling on God for help, and not ourselves, in whom God dwells?
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As a man is, so he sees.
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Drive your cart and plow over the bones of the dead.
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As the caterpillar chooses the fairest leaves to lay her eggs on, so the priest lays his curse on the fairest joys.
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Father, O father! what do we here In this land of unbelief and fear?
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Knowledge of ideal beauty is not to be acquired. It is born with us. Innate ideas are in every man, born with him theyare truly himself.
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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
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The Man who never in his Mind & Thoughts travel'd to Heaven Is No Artist.
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What is it men in women do require: The lineaments of gratified desire. What is it women do in men require: The lineaments of gratified desire.
William Blake