William Blake

William
Blake
1757
1827

English Poet, Engraver, Painter, Visionary Mystic

Author Quotes

Works of Art can only be produc'd in Perfection where the Man is either in Affluence or is Above the Care of it.

You are forgiven for your happiness and your successes only if you generously consent to share them.

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.

You smile with pomp and rigor, you talk of benevolence and virtue; I act with benevolence and virtue and get murdered time after time.

You throw the sand against the wind And the wind blows it back again.

You'll quite remove the ancient curse.

Your chimneys I sweep and in soot I sleep.

Your friendship oft has made my heart to ache: do be my enemy for friendship's sake.

Without Unceasing Practice nothing can be done. Practice is Art. If you leave off you are lost.

Without contraries is no progression. Attraction and repulsion, reason and energy, love and hate, are necessary to human existence.

Thy friendship oft has made my heart to ache: do be my enemy for friendship's sake.

Turn away no more; why wilt thou turn away? The starry floor, the watery shore, is given thee till the break of day.

What seems to be, is, to those to whom it seems to be, and is productive of the most dreadful consequences to those to whom it seems to be, even of torments, despair, eternal death.

When the sun rises, do you not see a round disc of fire somewhat like a guinea? O no, no, I see an innumerable company of the heavenly host crying Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty.

Time is the mercy of eternity; without time's swiftness which is the swiftest of all things: all were eternal torment.

'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean, The children walking two and two, in red and blue and green.

What the hammer? What the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? What dread grasp dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the voices of children are heard on the green and laughing is heard on the hill, my heart is at rest within my breast and everything else is still.

To cast aside from poetry, all that is not inspiration.

Tyger! Tyger! Burning bright in the forests of the night, what immortal hand or eye could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare sieze the fire? And what shoulder, and what art. Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, what dread hand? and what dread feet? What the hammer? What the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? What dread grasp dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears, and watered heaven with their tears, did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the lamb make thee? Tyger! Tyger! Burning bright in the forests of the night, what immortal hand or eye dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

What, it will be questioned, when the sun rises, do you not see a round disc of fire somewhat like a guinea? O no, no, I see an innumerable company of the heavenly host crying holy, holy, holy is the lord God almighty.

When thou seest an eagle, thou seest a portion of genius; lift up thy head!

To Chloe's breast young Cupid slily stole, but he crept in at Myra's pocket-hole.

Use what talents you possess; The woods would be very silent if no birds sang there except those that sang best.

Whate'er is born of mortal birth must be consumed with the earth.

Author Picture
First Name
William
Last Name
Blake
Birth Date
1757
Death Date
1827
Bio

English Poet, Engraver, Painter, Visionary Mystic