The result of literature infiltrating and winding itself so intrinsically around the mind as to be no longer distinctly distinguishable: the original and the implanted.
Monday, February 21, 2011
William Blake
On the day of his death, William Blake worked relentlessly on his Dante's series. Eventually he paused in his work and turned to his wife, who was in tears by his bedside. Beholding her, Blake is said to have cried, "Stay Kate! Keep just as you are- I will draw your portrait-for you have ever been an angel to me!"
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