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Art degraded, Imagination denied.

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
Degraded
Denied
Imagination
Art

More quotes by William Blake

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The cut worm forgives the plow.
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To create a little flower is the labour of ages.
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In every cry of every man, In every infant's cry of fear, In every voice, in every ban, The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.
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I give you the end of a golden string, Only wind it into a ball, It will lead you in at Heaven's gate Built in Jerusalem's wall.
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He who desires, but acts not, breeds pestilence.
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Mercy, Pity, Peace Is the world's release.
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He who loves his enemies betrays his friends this surely is not what Jesus meant.
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He who has few things to desire cannot have many to fear.
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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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If you have formed a circle to go into,Go into it yourself and see how you would do.
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My Brother starv'd between two Walls,His Children's Cry my Soul appalls
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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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I thought Love lived in the hot sunshine, But O, he lives in the moony light! I thought to find Love in the heat of day, But sweet Love is the comforter of night.
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For the Eye altering alters all The Senses roll themselves in fear And the flat Earth becomes a Ball.
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The lamb misused breeds public strife And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
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I have conversed with the spiritual Sun. I saw him on Primrose Hill
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Can I see a falling tear, And not feel my sorrow's share?
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The vision of Christ that thou dost see Is my vision's greatest enemy.
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To the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself.
William Blake
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He who does not imagine in stronger and better lineaments, and in stronger and better light than his perishing and mortal eye can see, does not imagine at all.
William Blake