“The Lily of the valley, breathing in the humble grass
Answer’d the lovely maid and said: “I am a watry weed,
And I am very small, and love to dwell in lowly vales;
So weak, the gilded butterfly scarce perches on my head;
Yet I am visited from heaven, and he that smiles on all
Walks in the valley and each morn over me spreads his hand,
Saying: ‘Rejoice, thou humble grass, thou new-born lily flower,”
― William Blake, The Book of Thel, and the Marriage of Heaven and Hell
Art – Kelly Louise Judd
“We have given you, O Adam, no visage proper to yourself, nor endowment properly your own, in order that whatever place, whatever form, whatever gifts you may, with premeditation, select, these same you may have and possess through your own judgement and decision.
– Pico della Mirandola
Art by William Blake.
“The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing which stands in the way… As a man is, so he sees.”
– William Blake (28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
Art by Vincent van Gogh.
“The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way. Some see nature all ridicule and deformity… and some scarce see nature at all. But to the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself.”
― William Blake
Art by the man of imagination – Vladimir Kush.
William Blake: 28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827.
“Imagination is the real and eternal world of which this vegetable universe is but a faint shadow.”
“The tigers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction.”
“If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite.”
William Blake, “The Night of Enitharmon’s Joy“, 1795. Blake’s vision of Hecate, Greek goddess of black magic and the underworld.
He has been my beacon in declaring my Invisible Stories, as imagination can make the Invisible, Visible.
In the forest of tonight….
Winter’s shades of snow
will come to end the road
Picture: Ivan Fedorovich Choultsé.
Inspiration: William Blake “Tiger, tiger, burning bright/ In the forest of the night/ What immortal hand or eye/ Could frame thy fearful symmetry?/.