WILLIAM BLAKE QUOTES

True superstition is ignorant honesty & this is beloved of god and man.

Forgiveness of enemies can only come upon their repentance.

Active Evil is better than Passive Good.

They suppose that Woman's Love is Sin; in consequence all the Loves & Graces with them are Sin.

Rintrah roars and shakes his fires in the burdened air;

Hungry clouds swag on the deep.

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

The reason Milton wrote in fetters when he wrote of Angels and God, and at liberty when of Devils and Hell, is because he was a true poet and of the Devil's party without knowing it.

Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained; and the restrainer or reason usurps its place & governs the unwilling.

Man has no Body distinct from his Soul; for that call'd Body is a portion of Soul discern'd by the five Senses, the chief inlets of Soul in this age.

If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite.

The man who never alters his opinion is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind.

Opposition is true Friendship.

The worship of God is, Honouring his gifts in other men each according to his genius, and loving the greatest men best; those who envy or calumniate great men hate God, for there is no other God.

The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.

He who desires, but acts not, breeds pestilence.

A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees.

He whose face gives no light, shall never become a star.

Eternity is in love with the productions of time.

The busy bee has no time for sorrow.

The hours of folly are measured by the clock, but of wisdom no clock can measure.

No bird soars too high, if he soars with his own wings.

If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise.

Prisons are built with stones of law, brothels with bricks of religion.

The pride of the peacock is the glory of God.

The lust of the goat is the bounty of God.

The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God.

The nakedness of woman is the work of God.

The cistern contains: the fountain overflows.

One thought. fills immensity.

Always be ready to speak your mind, and a base man will avoid you.

The eagle never lost so much time as when he submitted to learn of the crow.

Think in the morning. Act in the noon. Eat in the evening. Sleep in the night.

The tygers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction.

You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.

The weak in courage is strong in cunning.

When thou seest an Eagle, thou seest a portion of Genius; lift up thy head!

Improvement makes straight roads; but the crooked roads without improvement are roads of genius.

Truth can never be told so as to be understood, and not be believed.

The ancient poets animated all objects with Gods or Geniuses, calling them by the names and adorning them with the properties of woods, rivers, mountains, lakes, cities, nations, and whatever their enlarged & numerous senses could perceive. And particularly they studied the genius of each city & country, placing it under its mental deity; Till a system was formed, which some took advantage of & enslav'd the vulgar by attempting to realize or abstract the mental deities from their objects: thus began priesthood; Choosing forms of worship from poetic tales. And at length they pronounc'd that the Gods had order'd such things. Thus men forgot that all deities reside in the human breast.

Thou with dewy locks, who lookest down

Thro' the clear windows of the morning, turn

Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,

Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!

O Thou who passest thro' our valleys in

Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat

That flames from their large nostrils! thou, O Summer,

Oft pitchedst here thy golden tent, and oft

Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld

With joy, thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.

O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stain'd

With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit

Beneath my shady roof, there thou mayest rest,

And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,

And all the daughters of the year shall dance!

Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.

O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors:

The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark

Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs

Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.

He hears me not, but o'er the yawning deep

Rides heavy; his storms are unchain'd, sheathed

In ribbed steel; I dare not lift mine eyes;

For he hath rear'd his sceptre o'er the world.

O Holy virgin! clad in purest white,

Unlock heaven's golden gates and issue forth;

Awake the dawn that sleeps in heaven; let light

Rise from the chambers of the east, and bring

The honey'd dew that cometh on waking day.

O radiant morning, salute the sun,

Roused like a huntsman to the chase, and with

Thy buskin'd feet appear upon our hills.

How sweet I roamed from field to field,

And tasted all the summer's pride,

Till I the prince of love beheld,

Who in the sunny beams did glide!

He loves to sit and hear me sing,

Then, laughing, sports and plays with me;

Then stretches out my golden wing,

And mocks my loss of liberty.

My silks and fine array,

My smiles and languished air,

By love are driv'n away;

And mournful lean Despair

Brings me yew to deck my grave:

Such end true lovers have.

Like a fiend in a cloud,

With howling woe,

After night I do crowd,

And with night will go;

I turn my back to the east,

From whence comforts have increased;

For light doth seize my brain

With frantic pain.

How have you left the ancient love

That bards of old enjoyed in you!

The languid strings do scarcely move!

The sound is forced, the notes are few!

Hear the voice of the Bard,

Who present, past, and future, sees;

Whose ears have heard

The Holy Word

That walked among the ancient trees.

Turn away no more;

Why wilt thou turn away?

The starry floor,

The watery shore,

Is given thee till the break of day.

Love seeketh not itself to please,

Nor for itself hath any care,

But for another gives its ease,

And builds a heaven in hell’s despair.

Love seeketh only Self to please,

To bind another to its delight,

Joys in another’s loss of ease,

And builds a hell in heaven’s despite.

O rose, thou art sick!

The invisible worm,

That flies in the night,

In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed

Of crimson joy,

And his dark secret love

Does thy life destroy.

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.

The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,

The humble sheep a threat’ning horn:

While the Lily white shall in love delight,

Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.

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.

But most, thro' midnight streets I hear

How the youthful Harlot’s curse

Blasts the new born Infant’s tear,

And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.

Pity would be no more

If we did not make somebody Poor;

And Mercy no more could be

If all were as happy as we.

My mother groan'd! my father wept.

Into the dangerous world I leapt:

Helpless, naked, piping loud:

Like a fiend hid in a cloud.

I was angry with my friend:

I told my wrath, my wrath did end.

I was angry with my foe:

I told it not, my wrath did grow.

Children of the future Age

Reading this indignant page,

Know that in a former time

Love! sweet Love! was thought a crime.

Cruelty has a human heart,

And Jealousy a human face;

Terror the human form divine,

And Secrecy the human dress.

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

in the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

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.

And I made a rural pen,

And I stained the water clear,

And I wrote my happy songs

Every child may joy to hear.

Sing louder around

To the bells' cheerful sound,

While our sports shall be seen

On the ecchoing green.

Little Lamb, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee?

Gave thee life and bid thee feed

By the stream and o'er the mead;

Gave thee clothing of delight,

Softest clothing, woolly bright.

My mother bore me in the southern wild,

And I am black, but O! my soul is white;

White as an angel is the English child,

But I am black as if bereaved of light.

And we are put on earth a little space,

That we may learn to bear the beams of love,

And these black bodies and this sunburnt face

Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove.

I'll shade him from the heat till he can bear

To lean in joy upon our Father's knee;

And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair,

And be like him and he will then love me.

When my mother died I was very young,

And my father sold me while yet my tongue

Could scarcely cry 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!'weep!

So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.

To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love

All pray in their distress;

And to these virtues of delight

Return their thankfulness.

For Mercy has a human heart,

Pity, a human face,

And Love, the human form divine,

And Peace, the human dress.

The moon like a flower

In heaven's high bower,

With silent delight,

Sits and smiles on the night.

And there the lion's ruddy eyes

Shall flow with tears of gold,

And pitying the tender cries,

And walking round the fold,

Saying: "Wrath by his meekness,

And by his health, sickness,

Is driven away

From our immortal day."

"For washed in life's river,

My bright mane forever

Shall shine like the gold

As Iguard o'er the fold."

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.

Can I see another's woe,

And not be in sorrow too?

Can I see another's grief,

And not seek for kind relief?

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