William Blake
William Blake
William Blakewas an English poet, painter, and printmaker. Largely unrecognised during his lifetime, Blake is now considered a seminal figure in the history of the poetry and visual arts of the Romantic Age. His prophetic works have been said to form "what is in proportion to its merits the least read body of poetry in the English language". His visual artistry led one contemporary art critic to proclaim him "far and away the greatest artist Britain has ever produced". In...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPhilosopher
Date of Birth28 November 1757
He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be beloved by men.
He who pretends to be either painter or engraver without being a master of drawing is an imposter.
Thinking as I do that the Creator of this world is a very cruel being, and being a worshipper of Christ, I cannot help saying: ''the Son, O how unlike the Father!'' First God Almighty comes with a thump on the head. Then Jesus Christ comes with a balm to heal it.
Hindsight is a wonderful thing but foresight is better, especially when it comes to saving life, or some pain!
The fox condemns the trap, not himself.
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand.
The ruins of time build mansions in eternity.
More! More! is the cry of a mistaken soul.
To see a world in a grain of sand and a heaven in a wildflower.
The voice of honest indignation is the voice of God.
Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau! Mock on, mock on: 'Tis all in vain! You throw the sand against the wind, And the wind blows it back again. And every sand becomes a gem Reflected in the beams divine; Blown back they blind the mocking eye, But still in Israel's paths they shine. The atoms of Democritus And Newton's particles of light Are sands upon the Red Sea shore, Where Israel's tents do shine so bright.
The stars are threshed, and the souls are threshed from their husks.
Since all the riches of this world May be gifts from the Devil and earthly kings, I should suspect that I worshipp'd the Devil If I thank'd my God for worldly things.
The generations of men run on in the tide of time, but leave their destined lineaments permanent for ever and ever.