No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings.
-- William Blake
No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings.
-- William Blake
He whose face gives no light shall never become a star.
-- William Blake, English poet and artist (1757-1827)
He who desires, but acts not, breeds pestilence.
-- William Blake
Little Fly,
Thy summer's play If thought is life
My thoughtless hand And strength & breath,
Has brush'd away. And the want
Of thought is death,
Am not I
A fly like thee? Then am I
Or art not thou A happy fly
A man like me? If I live
Or if I die.
For I dance
And drink & sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
-- William Blake, "The Fly"
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
-- William Blake
Piping down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me:
“Pipe a song about a Lamb!”
So I piped with merry cheer.
"Piper, pipe that song again;"
So I piped: he wept to hear.
-- William Blake, "Songs of Innocence"
To generalize is to be an idiot.
-- William Blake, English poet, artist (1757-1827)
A truth that's told with bad intent Beats all the Lies you can invent
-- William Blake, English poet
And did those feet, in ancient times,
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the Holy Lamb of God
In England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon these crowded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark satanic mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spears! O clouds unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!
I shall not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword rest in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.
-- William Blake, "Jerusalem"
Tyger, Tyger, burning bright Where the hammer? Where the chain?
In the forests of the night, In what furnace was thy brain?
What immortal hand or eye What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
Burnt in distant deeps or skies When the stars threw down their spears
The cruel fire of thine eyes? And water'd heaven with their tears
On what wings dare he aspire? Dare he laugh his work to see?
What the hand dare seize the fire? Dare he who made the lamb make thee?
And what shoulder & what art Tyger, Tyger, burning bright
Could twist the sinews of they heart? In the forests of the night,
And when thy heart began to beat What immortal hand or eye
What dread hand & what dread feet Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
Could fetch it from the furnace deep
And in thy horrid ribs dare steep
In the well of sanguine woe?
In what clay & in what mould
Were thy eyes of fury roll'd?
-- William Blake, "The Tyger"
If a fool persists in his folly he shall become wise.
-- William Blake
Tyger, Tyger, burning bright Where the hammer? Where the chain?
In the forests of the night, In what furnace was thy brain?
What immortal hand or eye What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
Burnt in distant deeps or skies When the stars threw down their spears
The cruel fire of thine eyes? And water'd heaven with their tears
On what wings dare he aspire? Dare he laugh his work to see?
What the hand dare seize the fire? Dare he who made the lamb make thee?
And what shoulder & what art Tyger, Tyger, burning bright
Could twist the sinews of they heart? In the forests of the night,
And when thy heart began to beat What immortal hand or eye
What dread hand & what dread feet Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
Could fetch it from the furnace deep
And in thy horrid ribs dare steep
In the well of sanguine woe?
In what clay & in what mould
Were thy eyes of fury roll'd?
-- William Blake, "The Tyger"
Little Fly,
Thy summer's play If thought is life
My thoughtless hand And strength & breath,
Has brush'd away. And the want
Of thought is death,
Am not I
A fly like thee? Then am I
Or art not thou A happy fly
A man like me? If I live
Or if I die.
For I dance
And drink & sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
-- William Blake, "The Fly"
A musician, an artist, an architect:
the man or woman who is not one of these is not a Christian.
-- William Blake
I must Create a System, or be enslav'd by another Man's;
I will not Reason and Compare; my business is to Create.
-- William Blake, "Jerusalem"
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
-- William Blake
And did those feet, in ancient times,
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the Holy Lamb of God
In England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon these crowded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark satanic mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spears! O clouds unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!
I shall not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword rest in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.
-- William Blake, "Jerusalem"
If a fool persists in his folly he shall become wise.
-- William Blake
To generalize is to be an idiot.
-- William Blake
You never know what is enough until you know what is more than enough.
-- William Blake
What is now proved was once only imagin'd.
-- William Blake
What is now proved was once only imagin'd.
-- William Blake
I must Create a System, or be enslav'd by another Man's;
I will not Reason and Compare; my business is to Create.
-- William Blake, "Jerusalem"
Piping down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me:
“Pipe a song about a Lamb!”
So I piped with merry cheer.
"Piper, pipe that song again;"
So I piped: he wept to hear.
-- William Blake, "Songs of Innocence"
To generalize is to be an idiot.
-- William Blake
A musician, an artist, an architect:
the man or woman who is not one of these is not a Christian.
-- William Blake
“Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained.” (William Blake)
To generalize is to be an idiot.
-- William Blake
No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings.
-- William Blake
You never know what is enough until you know what is more than enough.
-- William Blake