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. – William Blake
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Love seeketh not itself to please, nor for itself hath any care, but for another gives its ease, and builds a Heaven in Hells despair. – William Blake
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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 the man hath, his house, his wife, his children. – William Blake
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