William Blake

Do what you will, this life's a fiction
And is made up of contradiction.

Abstinence sows sand all over
The ruddy limbs and flaming hair,
But desire gratified
Plants fruits of life and beauty there.

If the doors of perception were cleansed, every thing would appear to man as it is, infinite.

Without Unceasing Practice nothing can be done.  Practice is Art.  If you leave off you are lost.

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 & Deformity... & Some Scarce see Nature at all But to the Eyes of the Man of Imagination Nature is Imagination itself.

No one flys too high if they fly on their own wings. (Originally "man" and "his.")

If the doors of perception were cleansed, every thing would appear to man as it is, infinite.

The stars are threshed and the souls are threshed from their husks.

The voice of honest indignation is the voice of God.

  If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear
to man as it is: infinite.
  For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow
chinks of his cavern.