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William Blake Quotes

Browse 11 quotes about William Blake.

William Blake Quotes

“She fed him scraps from her ragbag because words were all that were left now. Perhaps he could use them to pay the ferryman. Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold. The world is charged with the grandeur of God. Full fathom five thy father lies. Little lamb, who made thee? Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie. On that best portion of a good man's life, his little nameless unremembered acts of kindness and of love. Farther and farther, all the birds of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire. The air rippled and shimmered. Time narrowed to a pinpoint. It was about to happen. Because the Holy Ghost over the bent world broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.”

“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.' So sung a little Clod of Clay Trodden with the cattle's feet, But a Pebble of the brook Warbled out these metres meet: '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.”

“(about William Blake) As for Blake's happiness--a man who knew him said: "If asked whether I ever knew among the intellectual, a happy man, Blake would be the only one who would immediately occur to me." And yet this creative power in Blake did not come from ambition. ...He burned most of his own work. Because he said, "I should be sorry if I had any earthly fame, for whatever natural glory a man has is so much detracted from his spiritual glory. I wish to do nothing for profit. I wish to live for art. I want nothing whatever. I am quite happy." ...He did not mind death in the least. He said that to him it was just like going into another room. On the day of his death he composed songs to his Maker and sang them for his wife to hear. Just before he died his countenance became fair, his eyes brightened and he burst into singing of the things he saw in heaven.”

“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. And mutual fear brings peace, Till the selfish loves increase: Then Cruelty knits a snare And spreads his baits with care. He sits down with holy fears And waters the ground with tears: Then Humility takes its root Underneath his foot. Soon spreads the dismal shade Of Mystery over his head, And the Catterpiller and Fly Feed on the Mystery. And it bears the fruit of Deceit, Ruddy and sweet to eat, And the Raven his nest has made In its thickest shade. The Gods of the earth and sea Sought thro' Nature to find this Tree, But their search was all in vain: There grows one in the Human Brain.”

“In every way, we inhabit the Noosphere, the domain of nous, of mind. This cosmic Noosphere is evolving. Powerful minds are shaping it, making it perfect. One day, it will be transformed into Golgonooza, Blake’s wondrous City of the Imagination. Once enough people are illuminated, its light will shine brighter than all the suns put together. It will illuminate the whole universe. It will be inhabited by glittering Gods, and they shall call it heaven.”

“But to fully understand this concept we must actually experience it. We almost always forget that our perception of what we call the physical world is a simulation and not “reality itself.” William Blake understood the concept that we create our own reality when he stated, “That which appears without, is within.” When I had my first LSD trip at the age of 16, among other things I realized that the brain entirely creates what we experience as reality. I realized it by experiencing it. Everything that we think is the external world is actually a neurological simulation fabricated out of complex chains of sensory signals by the human brain. On that psychedelic experience it appeared to me as though all of reality was composed of points or monads, and that our perception of reality is like those connect-the-dots games that we play as children. The possible ways of connecting the dots are far more varied than I had thought, and can be done in countless different ways.”

“O little Cloud," the virgin said, "I charge thee tell to me, Why thou complainest not when in one hour thou fade away: Then we shall seek thee but not find; ah, Thel is like to Thee. I pass away, yet I complain, and no one hears my voice." The Cloud then shew'd his golden head & his bright form emerg'd, Hovering and glittering on the air before the face of Thel.”

“Lei insegna all’università, vero? E quindi conosce William Blake.” “Sì, lo conosco un po’. Più come artista che come scrittore, a essere sincera.” “Quella sua poesia, Jerusalem... è molto bella, ma mi sconcerta.” “Come mai?” “And was Jerusalem builded here. Dice così, no? Ma non esiste la parola ‘builded’. Non è la parola giusta.” “No, non lo è, ma ‘builded’ funziona meglio in quel verso.” Mr Hu ci rifletté su e poi sorrise con ammirazione. “Vede, è questo che mi piace degli inglesi. Tutti vi credono un popolo affidabile, conservatore. Ma poi rompete sempre le regole. Se vi serve per ottenere ciò che volete, non vi fate alcun problema.” Rise felice. “Persino William Blake l’ha fatto.”