Joys impregnate. Sorrows bring forth. – William Blake
Then my verse I dishonor, my pictures despise, my person degrade and my temper chastise; and the pen is my terror, the pencil my shame; and my talents I bury, and dead is my fame. – William Blake
He who binds to himself a joy doth the winged life destroy. But he who kisses the joy as it flies lives in Eternitys sunrise. – William Blake
He who would do good to another must do it in Minute Particulars: general Good is the plea of the scoundrel, hypocrite, and flatterer, for Art and Science cannot exist but in minutely organized Particulars. – William Blake