
No. 1, He Who Binds
1790s, Poems from Blake's Notebook (c. 1791-1792), Several Questions Answered
No. 1, He Who Binds
1790s, Poems from Blake's Notebook (c. 1791-1792), Several Questions Answered
“Who can live with this Consciousness and not wake frightened at sunrise?”
Source: The Fall of America: Poems of These States 1965-1971
page 438
Last lines of the documentary film series " The National Parks: America's Best Idea http://www.pbs.org/nationalparks/" by Ken Burns.
John of the Mountains, 1938
Songs of the Soul by Paramahansa Yogananda, Quotes drawn from the poem "Samadhi"
“He has not lived in vain
who learns to be unruffled
by loss, by gain,
by, joy, by pain.”
The Cherubinic Wanderer
Source: Hope for Each Day: Words of Wisdom and Faith
“What matters an eternity of damnation to someone who has found in one second the infinity of joy?”
Mais qu'importe l'éternité de la damnation à qui a trouvé dans une seconde l'infini de la jouissance?
IX: "Le Mauvais Vitrier" http://fr.wikisource.org/wiki/Petits_Po%C3%A8mes_en_prose_-_IX._Le_Mauvais_Vitrier
Le Spleen de Paris (1862)
“Joy is deeper than sorrow, for all joy seeks eternity.”
Academy of Achievement interview (2006)
Context: In our culture, we think that happy and color is trivial, that black and darkness is deeper. But Nietzsche said — which is a line that I firmly believe — "Joy is deeper than sorrow, for all joy seeks eternity." And if you see Grendel, you'll see, as he's on the edge of the abyss, ready to leap to his death, he sings, "Is it joy I feel? Is it joy I feel?" And it's so, so moving. You can have a lot of different explanations for the ending of that opera, but there is something so palpable that you will feel when he sings those lines.
Context: To enjoy anything, we cannot be attached to it. William Blake understood this beautifully: He who binds to himself a Joy, Doth the winged life destroy; But he who kisses the Joy as it flies / Lives in Eternity's sunrise. What we usually try to do is capture any joy that comes our way before it can escape. We have our butterfly net and go after the joy like a hunter stalking his prey. We hide and wait, pounce on it, catch it, and take it home to put on our wall. When our friends come to visit, we say, "Hey, Stu, would you like to see my joy?" There it is on the wall - dead. We try to cling to pleasure, but all we succeed in doing is making ourselves frustrated because, whatever it promises, pleasure simply cannot last. But if I am willing to kiss the joy as it flies, I say, 'Yes, this moment is beautiful. I won't grab it. I'll let it go.'