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The hours of folly are measured by the clock; but of wisdom, no clock can measure.
William Blake
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More from William Blake

Thou art a man God is no more Thy own humanity Learn to adore
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In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.
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O thou who passest through our valleys in Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat That flames from their large nostrils! Thou, O Summer, Oft pitchest here thy golden tent, and oft Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld With joy thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.
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Every Night and every Morn Some to Misery are born. Every Morn and every Night Some are born to Sweet Delight, Some are born to Endless Night.
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As the caterpillar chooses the fairest leaves to lay her eggs on, so the priest lays his curse on the fairest joys.
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He who would do good to another must do it in minute particulars.
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