A Quote by William Blake

Better to shun the bait than struggle in the snare. — © William Blake
Better to shun the bait than struggle in the snare.
The bait is the means to get the fish where you want it, catch the fish and you forget the bait. The snare is the means to get the rabbit where you want it, catch the rabbit and forget the snare. Words are the means to get the idea where you want it, catch on to the idea and you forget about the words. Where shall I find a man who forgets about words, and have a word with him?
The devil's snare does not catch you, unless you are first caught by the devil's bait.
The moth unwitting rushes on the fire, Through ignorance the fish devours the bait, We men know well the foes that lie in wait, Yet cannot shun the meshes of desire.
Desire for an idea is like bait. When you're fishing, you have to have patience. You bait your hook, and then you wait. The desire is the bait that pulls those fish in-those ideas.
There are men who struggle for a day and they are good. There are men who struggle for a year and they are better. There are men who struggle many years, and they are better still. But there are those who struggle all their lives: These are the indispensable ones.
Not to mention, we’re using you for bait. (Syn) Are you that drunk? (Nykyrian) What? I wasn’t supposed to tell her that? (Syn) I’m bait? (Kiara) No, you’re not bait. Ignore the alcoholic whose view of reality is distorted by his brain-damaged hallucinations. (Nykyrian)
A pretty girl is better than a plain one. A leg is better than an arm. A bedroom is better than a living room. An arrival is better that a departure. A birth is better than a death. A chase is better than a chat. A dog is better than a landscape. A kitten is better than a dog. A baby is better than a kitten. A kiss is better than a baby. A pratfall is better than anything.
I was playing legit snare with a traditional grip, not a matched grip. After I broke my left wrist, I couldn't hit a snare drum anymore. From the age of 13 to 17, I couldn't really get a pop on the snare drum. I would hit it, and my wrist would almost shatter.
The reward in heaven is the perpetual bait, a bait that has caught man in an iron net, a strait-jacket which does not let him expand or grow.
Be strong! We are not here to play, to dream, to drift; We have hard work to do and loads to lift; Shun not the struggle-face it; 'tis God's gift.
No reason makes it right To shun accepted ways from stubborn spite; And we may better join the foolish crowd Than cling to wisdom, lonely though unbowed.
I shun father and mother and wife and brother when my genius calls me. I would write on the lintels of the door-post, Whim. I hope that it is somewhat better than whim at last, but we cannot spend the day in explanation.
Devil’s Snare, Devil’s Snare . . . what did Professor Sprout say? — it likes the dark and the damp —” “So light a fire!” Harry choked. “Yes — of course — but there’s no wood!” Hermoine cried, wringing her hands. “HAVE YOU GONE MAD?” Ron bellowed. “ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?
I'm fishing for men with a certain kind of bait, and the bait that I am offering is not a candy; it's a very specific thing that I'm offering, which is a deep gospel and a deep conversion.
I love the sound of '70s glam records. I love that snare sound. The recordings I like, it's all based on if the snare sounds good. The drums have to sound great.
I struggle every day with trying to be a better dad, a better husband, better musician, better artist. It consumes me, and I don't see an end in sight.
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