16 William Blake Quotes on Art

William Blake quotes on art

8. Degrade first the arts if you'd mankind degrade, Hire idiots to paint with cold light and hot shade.

10. The Foundation of Empire is Art & Science Remove them or Degrade them & the Empire is No More-Empire follows Art & Not Vice Versa as Englishmen suppose.

12. When nations grow old, the Arts grow cold, And Commerce settles on every tree.

15. Art can never exist without Naked Beauty displayed.

16. Art is the tree of life. SCIENCE is the Tree of DEATH ART is the Tree of LIFE GOD is JESUS

17. Commerce is so far from being beneficial to Arts or to Empire, that it is destructive of both, as all their History shows, for the above Reason of Individual Merit being its Great Hatred. Empires flourish till they become Commercial & then they are scattered abroad to the four winds

30. How have you left the ancient love That bards of old enjoyed in you! The languid strings do scarcely move! The sound is forced, the notes are few!

36. Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me: 'Pipe a song about a Lamb.' So I piped with merry cheer; 'Piper, pipe that song again.' So I piped; he wept to hear.

53. The reason Milton wrote in fetters when he wrote of Angels and God, and at liberty when of Devils and Hell, is because he was a true poet and of the Devil's party without knowing it.

69. The cistern contains: the fountain overflows.

78. Exuberance is Beauty

120. Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau. Mock on, mock on-'tis all in vain! You throw the sand against the wind, And the wind blows it back again.

123. This cabinet is formed of gold And pearl and crystal shining bright, And within it opens into a world And a little lovely moony night.

139. And did those feet in ancient time, Walk upon England's mountains green? And was the holy Lamb of God On England's pleasant pastures seen? And did the Countenance Divine Shine forth upon our clouded hills? And was Jerusalem builded here Among these dark Satanic mills? Bring me my Bow of burning gold, Bring me my Arrows of desire, Bring me my Spear-O clouds, unfold! Bring me my Chariot of fire! I will not cease from mental fight, Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, Till we have built Jerusalem In England's green & pleasant land.

144. Poetry fettered fetters the human race. Nations are destroyed, or flourish, in proportion as their poetry, painting, and music are destroyed or flourish!

146. 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.