Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.
William BlakeWhen a sinister person means to be your enemy, they always start by trying to become your friend.
William BlakeWithout minute neatness of execution, the sublime cannot exist! Grandeur of ideas is founded on precision of ideas.
William Blake