William Blake spent his entire life writing profound mystical poetry and creating legendary engravings, completely fueled by the fact that he regularly saw angels sitting in the trees of London.

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William Blake spent his entire life writing profound mystical poetry and creating legendary engravings, completely fueled by the fact that he regularly saw angels sitting in the trees of London. His wife casually accepted his constant hallucinations, once remarking that she had very little of his company because he was always in paradise. He was largely considered an absolute lunatic by his contemporaries, dying in poverty before his bizarre, visionary mythology was finally recognized as pure genius by later generations. It is a classic artist narrative where society ignores the eccentric guy screaming about spiritual entities in the bushes, only to put his weird angelic artwork in prestigious museums a hundred years after it could have actually paid his rent