As the caterpillar chooses the fairest leaves to lay her eggs on, so the priest lays his curse on the fairest joys.

The person who does not believe in miracles surely makes it certain that he or she will never take part in one.

All futurity seems teeming with endless destruction never to be repelled; Desperate remorse swallows the present in a quenchless rage.

I am more famed in Heaven for my works than I could well conceive. In my brain are studies & chambers filled with books & pictures of old, which I wrote and painted in ages of Eternity before my mortal life; and whose works are the delight & study of Archangels. Why, then, should I be anxious about the riches or fame of mortality?

When the doors of perception are cleansed, men will see things as they truly are, infinite.

I went to the Garden of Love, And saw what I never had seen: A Chapel was built in the midst, Where I used to play on the green. And the gates of this Chapel were shut, And 'Thou shalt not' writ over the door; So I turn'd to the Garden of Love, That so many sweet flowers bore. And I saw it was filled with graves, And tomb-stones where flowers should be: And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds, And binding with briars, my joys & desires.

Every man who is not an artist is a traitor to his own nature.