William Blake Quotes

To see a World in a Grain of Sand And a Heaven in a Wild Flower, Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour.

A truth that's told with bad intent Beats all the lies you can invent.

It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.

If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.

If a thing loves, it is infinite.

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

Those who restrain desire do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained.

What is now proved was once only imagined.

I must create a system, or be enslaved by another man's. I will not reason and compare: my business is to create.

The imagination is not a state: it is the human existence itself.

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

The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way. Some see nature all ridicule and deformity... and some scarce see nature at all. But to the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself.

In the universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown, and in between, there are doors.

To generalize is to be an idiot.

The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.

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

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.

The glory of Christianity is to conquer by forgiveness.

Eternity is in love with the productions of time.

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.

I was walking among the fires of Hell, delighted with the enjoyments of Genius; which to Angels look like torment and insanity.

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

He who kisses joy as it flies by will live in eternity's sunrise.

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

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

The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom...You never know what is enough until you know what is more than enough.

For all eternity, I forgive you and you forgive me.

Excessive sorrow laughs. Excessive joy weeps.

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

My mother groaned, my father wept, into the dangerous world I leapt.

Great things are done when men and mountains meet.

A man can't soar too high, when he flies with his own wings.

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

Improvement makes strait roads, but the crooked roads without Improvement, are roads of Genius.

He who binds to himself a joy Does the winged life destroy; But he who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity's sun rise.

This life's dim windows of the soul Distorts the heavens from pole to pole And leads you to believe a lie When you see with, not through, the eye.

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.

The most sublime act is to set another before you.

To see a World in a grain of sand, And a Heaven in a wild flower, Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand, And Eternity in an hour.

A good local pub has much in common with a church, except that a pub is warmer, and there's more conversation.

And we are put on this earth a little space that we might learn to bear the beams of love.

Some are born to sweet delight, Some are born to endless night.

Better to shun the bait than struggle in the snare.

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. And I water'd it in fears, Night & morning with my tears; And I sunnéd it with smiles And with soft deceitful wiles. And it grew both day and night, Till it bore an apple bright; And my foe beheld it shine, And he knew that it was mine, And into my garden stole, When the night had veil'd the pole: In the morning glad I see My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree.

Enlightenment means taking full responsibility for your life.

The fool who persists in his folly will become wise.

For every thing that lives is Holy.

I look at the blanked-out faces of the other passengers--hoisting their briefcases, their backpacks, shuffling to disembark--and I think of what Hobie said: beauty alters the grain of reality. And I keep thinking too of the more conventional wisdom: namely, that the pursuit of pure beauty is a trap, a fast track to bitterness and sorrow, that beauty has to be wedded to something more meaningful. Only what is that thing? Why am I made the way I am? Why do I care about all the wrong things, and nothing at all for the right ones? Or, to tip it another way: how can I see so clearly that everything I love or care about is illusion, and yet--for me, anyway--all that's worth living for lies in that charm? A great sorrow, and one that I am only beginning to understand: we don't get to choose our own hearts. We can't make ourselves want what's good for us or what's good for other people. We don't get to choose the people we are. Because--isn't it drilled into us constantly, from childhood on, an unquestioned platitude in the culture--? From William Blake to Lady Gaga, from Rousseau to Rumi to Tosca to Mister Rogers, it's a curiously uniform message, accepted from high to low: when in doubt, what to do? How do we know what's right for us? Every shrink, every career counselor, every Disney princess knows the answer: "Be yourself." "Follow your heart." Only here's what I really, really want someone to explain to me. What if one happens to be possessed of a heart that can't be trusted--? What if the heart, for its own unfathomable reasons, leads one willfully and in a cloud of unspeakable radiance away from health, domesticity, civic responsibility and strong social connections and all the blandly-held common virtues and instead straight toward a beautiful flare of ruin, self-immolation, disaster?...If your deepest self is singing and coaxing you straight toward the bonfire, is it better to turn away? Stop your ears with wax? Ignore all the perverse glory your heart is screaming at you? Set yourself on the course that will lead you dutifully towards the norm, reasonable hours and regular medical check-ups, stable relationships and steady career advancement the New York Times and brunch on Sunday, all with the promise of being somehow a better person? Or...is it better to throw yourself head first and laughing into the holy rage calling your name?

Imagination is the real and eternal world of which this vegetable universe is but a faint shadow.

Man was made for joy and woe Then when this we rightly know Through the world we safely go. Joy and woe are woven fine A clothing for the soul to bind.

Exuberance is beauty.

He who desires, but acts not, breeds pestilence.

When i tell the truth, it is not for the sake of convincing those who do not know it, but for the sake of defending those that do.

Expect poison from the standing water.

Can I see anothers woe, And not be in sorrow too. Can I see anothers grief, And not seek for kind relief.

How can a bird that is born for joy Sit in a cage and sing?

Everything to be imagined is an image of truth.

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

Those who control their passions do so because their passions are weak enough to be controlled.

For I dance And drink and sing, Till some blind hand Shall brush my wing. If thought is life And strength and breath And the want Of thought is death Then am I A happy fly If I live Or if I die

Always give without remembering and always receive without forgetting.

If the Sun and Moon should ever doubt, they'd immediately go out.

Prisons are built with stones of Law, Brothels with bricks of Religion

Never seek to tell thy love; Love that never told can be. For the gentle wind does move silently.. invisibly.

When a sinister person means to be your enemy, they always start by trying to become your friend

The lamb misused breeds public strife And yet forgives the butcher's knife.

Children of the future age Reading this indignant page Know that in a former time Love, sweet love, was thought a crime

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

For Mercy has a human heart Pity, a human face: And Love, the human form divine, And Peace, the human dress.

A Robin Redbreast in a Cage Puts all Heaven in a Rage. A dove house fill’d with doves and pigeons Shudders Hell thro’ all its regions. A Dog starv’d at his Master’s Gate Predicts the ruin of the State. A Horse misus’d upon the Road Calls to Heaven for Human blood. Each outcry of the hunted Hare A fiber from the Brain does tear.

Knowledge is Life with wings

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.

Without Contraries is no Progression.

Both read the Bible day and night, But thou read'st black where I read white.

I will not reason and compare my business is to create.

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

To see a world in a grain of sand And a heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your hand And eternity in an hour. A robin redbreast in a cage Puts all heaven in a rage. A dove-house filled with doves and pigeons Shudders hell through all its regions.

Opposition is true Friendship.

Energy is eternal delight.

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?

Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.

The busy bee has no time for sorrow.

Make your own rules or be a slave to another man's.

We become what we behold.

I myself do nothing. The Holy Spirit accomplishes all through me.

The crow wished everything was black, the Owl, that everything was white.

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend; Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and--sans End! Alike for those who for To-day prepare, And those that after some To-morrow stare, A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries "Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There.

Fiery the Angels rose, & as they rose deep thunder roll’d Around their shores, indignant burning with the fires of Orc.

Mercy is the golden chain by which society is bound together.

The weak in courage is strong in cunning.

Sooner strangle an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires.

How can the bird that is born for joy Sit in a cage and sing? How can a child, when fears annoy, But droop his tender wing, And forget his youthful spring?

What is grand is necessarily obscure to weak men. That which can be made explicit to the idiot is not worth my care.

Never seek to tell thy love, Love that never told can be; For the gentle wind doth move Silently, invisibly. I told my love, I told my love, I told her all my heart, Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears. Ah! she did depart! Soon after she was gone from me, A traveller came by, Silently, invisibly: He took her with a sigh.

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?

Little Fly Thy summers play, My thoughtless hand Has brush'd away. Am not I A fly like thee? Or art not thou A man like me? For I dance And drink & sing: Till some blind hand Shall brush my wing. If thought is life And strength & breath: And the want Of thought is death; Then am I A happy fly, If I live, Or if I die

Because--isn't it drilled into us constantly, from childhood on, an unquestioned platitude in the culture--? From William Blake to Lady Gaga, from Rousseau to Rumi to Tosca to Mister Rogers, it's a curiously uniform message, accepted from high to low: when in doubt, what to do? How do we know what's right for us? Every shrink, every career counselor, every Disney princess knows the answer: "Be yourself." "Follow your heart." Only here's what I really, really want someone to explain to me. What if one happens to be possessed of a heart that can't be trusted--? What if the heart, for its own unfathomable reasons, leads one willfully and in a cloud of unspeakable radiance away from health, domesticity, civic responsibility and strong social connections and all the blandly-held common virtues and instead straight toward a beautiful flare of ruin, self-immolation, disaster?...If your deepest self is singing and coaxing you straight toward the bonfire, is it better to turn away? Stop your ears with wax? Ignore all the perverse glory your heart is screaming at you? Set yourself on the course that will lead you dutifully towards the norm, reasonable hours and regular medical check-ups, stable relationships and steady career advancement the New York Times and brunch on Sunday, all with the promise of being somehow a better person? Or...is it better to throw yourself head first and laughing into the holy rage calling your name?

The Prophets Isaiah and Ezekiel dined with me, and I asked them how they dared so roundly to assert, that God spoke to them; and whether they did not think at the time, that they would be misunderstood, & so be the cause of imposition. Isaiah answer'd, I saw no God, nor heard any, in a finite organical perception; but my senses discover'd the infinite in every thing, and as I was then persuaded, & remain confirm'd; that the voice of honest indignation is the voice of God, I cared not for consequences but wrote.

The Garden of Love I went to the Garden of Love, And saw what I never had seen: A Chapel was built in the midst, Where I used to play on the green. And the gates of this Chapel were shut, And 'Thou shalt not' writ over the door; So I turn'd to the Garden of Love, That so many sweet flowers bore. And I saw it was filled with graves, And tomb-stones where flowers should be: And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds, And binding with briars, my joys & desires.

What is the price of Experience? Do men buy it for a song? Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the price Of all that a man hath, his house, his wife, his children Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy And in the wither'd field where the farmer ploughs for bread in vain It is an easy thing to triumph in the summer's sun And in the vintage and to sing on the waggon loaded with corn It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted To speak the laws of prudence to the homeless wanderer To listen to the hungry raven's cry in wintry season When the red blood is fill'd with wine and with the marrow of lambs