I know of no other Christianity and of no other Gospel than the liberty both of body & mind to exercise the Divine Arts of the Imagination.
Man must be at war with himself if he wishes to be a heavenly citizen... fighting must be the watchword, not with tongue and sword, but with mind and spirit, and not to give over. Boehme
[Blake] might not have wanted to come too close to himself, in case he did not care for what he found there. He may have recognized that the sources of his greatness lay in sufferings long forgotten or in childhood fears long buried. Blake: A Biography, Peter Ackroyd
The stern Bard ceas'd, asham'd of his own song; enrag'd he swung
His harp aloft sounding, then dash'd its shining frame against
A ruin'd pillar in glittring fragments; silent he turn'd away,
And wander'd down among the vales of Kent in sick & drear lamentings
Blake, America (draft)
As Unity is the cloke of folly so Goodness is the cloke of knavery Those
who will have Unity exclusively in Homer come out with a Moral like a sting
in the tail: Aristotle says Characters are either Good or Bad: now Goodness
or Badness has nothing to do with Character. an Apple tree a Pear tree a Horse
a Lion, are Characters but a Good Apple tree or a Bad, is an Apple tree still:
a Horse is not more a Lion for being a Bad Horse. that is its Character; its
Goodness or Badness is another consideration.
Nature has no Outline, but Imagination
has. Nature has no Tune, but Imagination has! Nature has no Supernatural
& dissolves: Imagination is Eternity!
... the joys of God advance
For he is Righteous: he is not a Being of Pity & Compassion
He cannot feel Distress: he feeds on Sacrifice & Offering:
Delighting in cries & tears & clothed in Holiness & solitude
But my griefs advance also, for ever & ever without end
O that I could cease to be! Despair! I am Despair
Created to be the great example of horror & agony: also my
Prayer is vain I called for compassion: compassion mockd
Mercy & pity threw the grave stone over me & with lead
And iron, bound it over me for ever: Life lives on my
Consuming: & the Almighty hath made me his Contrary
To be all evil, all reversed & for ever dead: knowing
And seeing life, yet living not; how can I then behold
And not tremble; how can I be beheld & not abhorrd
". . . He soon became accustomed to the smell of nut oil, varnish and
lamp black from Germany as well as to the ink smeared across his hands
and his face. For the next seven years--indeed for the rest of his
life--he was surrounded by iron pots for the boiling of the oil, pans
forwarming the copper plates, tallow candles, racks of needles and
gravers, fine linen cloths to strain in the plates, old rags for wiping
the ink off the plates, pumice stones to polish the plates, feathers for
smoothing the ground of varnish on the plates. Stacked around him were
the sheets of fine paper, as well as the plates themselves, which were
the thickness of a half-crown; there was the small leather cushion
filled with sand, upon which he rested the plate while engraving, and
the square wooden press with its tables, rollers and woolen cloths. It
was a dirty and malodorous workplace but it was one against which he
never felt the slightest revulsion."
Buy the books on Amazon, and watch videos of some readings. Please.
My son and I saw THE HIDDEN FORTRESS at AFI Silver yesterday afternoon, what a masterpiece! The 21-year old Misa Uehara as the Princess was ...
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Really like this unusual book. I don't know if it's "the most important book of the last ten years," as Edmund White blu...