William Blake (1757-1827)
British poet, painter, visionary mystic, and engraver, who illustrated and printed his own books. Blake proclaimed the supremacy of the imagination over the rationalism and materialism of the 18th-century. He joined for a time the Swedenborgian Church of the New Jerusalem in London and considered Newtonian science to be superstitious nonsense. Misunderstanding shadowed his career as a writer and artist and it was left to later generations to recognize his importance.
From: http://www.kirjasto.sci.fi/wblake.htm
Blake was buried in an unmarked grave at the public cemetery of Bunhill Fields. Wordsworth's verdict after Blake's death reflected many opinions of the time: "There was no doubt that this poor man was mad, but there is something in the madness of this man which interests me more than the sanity of Lord Byron and Walter Scott."
From: http://www.poetseers.org/the_poetseers/blake
See also: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_blake
http://www.online-literature.com/blake/
QUOTATIONS
To see a world in a grain of sand And heaven in a wild flower Hold infinity in the palm of your hand And eternity in an hour.
(William Blake, from Auguries of Innocence)
If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite. (William Blake, from The Marriage of Heaven and Hell)
I have very little of Mr. Blake's company. He is always in Paradise. (Blake’s wife!)
The Tyger
Tiger, tiger, 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 seize the fire?
And what shoulder and what art Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And, when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
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?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
- William Blake
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