O Rose thou art sick! The invisible worm That flies in the night In the howling storm Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy, And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy

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Explore More Quotes by William Blake

If a thing loves it is infinite.

If a thing loves it is infinite.

No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings

No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings

Shame is pride's cloak.

Shame is pride's cloak.

The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest.

The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest.

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    Love is when two people know everything about each other and are still friends.

    Love is when two people know everything about each other and are still friends. 

    I love to travel, but hate to arrive.

    I love to travel, but hate to arrive.

    Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all of one’s lifetime.

    Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all of one’s lifetime.

    We travel not to escape life, but for life not to escape us.

    We travel not to escape life, but for life not to escape us.

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