Best 177 quotes in «blindness quotes» category

After her sister's visit, Marthe's head was brimming with new pictures: the fields of lavender at Valensole, all the subtle grades of blue and purple; the way twilight melted them all into one; the precise hues of the liquid distilled from each plant, the shape and color of the bottles, and a new understanding of the surroundings where she was learning her craft. Just as plant variations were bred together to crete new hybrids- like the lavandin from the delicate wild lavender- this was what she did with the descriptions her sister had supplied; she grafted them on to the sights she remembered from childhood and reinvigorated them.

After years in utter darkness, I force my eyes into the light. For I must retain my sight, that I might view the wholeness of the void, objectively.

Anak mata Emak mati sebelum Emak.

And the blind man said to the deaf man, "Do you see what I hear?

A lie, like a pill, is easier to swallow when you don't think about it.

And you're blind?" Uh-huh," Iggy said, trying to sound bored. Were you born that way?" No." How did you become blind, uh, Jeff, is it?" Yeah, Jeff. Well, I looked directly at the sun, you know, the way they always tell you not to. If only I had listened.

AUNT SHADIE: I see you - and don't worry, you're not white. ROSE: I'm pretty sure I'm white. I'm English. AUNT SHADIE: White is blindness - it has nothing to do with the colour of your skin.

All dark and comfortless.

Annie looks dreamy, but she always does because she can’t see farther than three feet away. Elizabeth looks vaguely angry, but she always does because she can see farther than three feet away.

As sensory experience junkies, we have been blinded to the majesty in the common.

Blind people are the best audience; they will be treated according to the formula; it’s easy to excite them; it’s easy to wake them up from a dream in which they dull, mute and helpless, await excitement—another product of the plastic reality, another star-studded name.

Blind party loyalty will be our downfall. We must follow the truth wherever it leads.

Careful, Arturo Bandini: don't strain your eyesight, remember what happened to Tarkington, remember what happened to James Joyce.

A world without radio is a deaf world.A world without television is a blind world. A a world without telephone is a dumb world. A world without communication is indeed a crippled world.

A world without radio is a deaf world. A world without television is a blind world. A world without telephone is a dumb world. A world without communication is indeed a crippled world.

A writer, or any man, must believe that whatever happens to him is an instrument; everything has been given for an end. This is even stronger in the case of the artist. Everything that happens, including humiliations, embarrassments, misfortunes, all has been given like clay, like material for one’s art. One must accept it. For this reason I speak in a poem of the ancient food of heroes: humiliation, unhappiness, discord. Those things are given to us to transform, so that we may make from the miserable circumstances of our lives things that are eternal, or aspire to be so.

Dave once asked me what blind people dream about. Mostly in sound and feeling, I replied. At night I fall in love with a voice, and then wake to a feeling of physical loss. Sometimes I close my eyes to a chorus of “Happy Birthday!” The smell of cake and the sound of feet under the table. I awake in a body that’s too big. I also dream in motion and sensation. My father’s boat and the snore of the mast; the rough fabric of the safety harness and the rip of Velcro. The sun on my legs. And endless stretch of water impossible to imagine.

Did you have to understand life to plunge in? Even kindness, when he encountered it, was a riddle half the time. If you walked into a door and bloodied your nose, it was one thing, but empathy for handicaps had never been his thing when he himself had none. Empathy had been for people of good cheer.

Don't be afraid of the dark." She tousled his hair tolerantly. "I've never known a man who wasn't scared of more things than I was.

Everything was numbered: the lenses, the painterly sky, the milligrams of my panic pills. I had prescription eyes that allowed me to see better, and prescription panic pills that allowed me to play blind.

Eyes and ears are not the problem... It is rage that blinds and deafens us. Or fear. Envy, mistrust. The world contracts, gets all out of joint when you are angry or afraid.

Freedom you earn is more powerful than freedom handed to you.

God is so cruel," she murmured reflectively, as though answering him. "Yes," he admitted, from the vantage point of going blind. "Though maybe people are kinder if He made them that way." "You've run with a different crowd. Rich people are nicer to rich people." "Sure. Yes. That's why I've washed up here. Rich people couldn't have been nicer to me.

Happiness is so rare that our mind can turn somersaults to protect it.

Her dark world was bright because of her sparkling attitude!

How often have our own tears blinded us to the tears of others.

How you look it is pretty much how you'll see it

– C’est ce receveur, expliqua le conducteur. – Ah ! dit Amadis. – Il aime pas les voyageurs. Alors, il s’arrange pour qu’on parte sans voyageur et il ne sonne jamais. Je le sais bien. – C’est vrai, dit Amadis. – Il est fou, vous comprenez, dit le machiniste. – C’est ça… murmura Amadis. Je le trouvais bizarre. – Ils sont tous fous à la Compagnie. – Ça ne m’étonne pas ! – Moi, dit le conducteur, je les possède. Au pays des aveugles, les borgnes sont rois. Vous avez un couteau ? – J’ai un canif. – Prêtez.

Everyone has a breaking point. Deny it, and you'll blind yourself to know when you've reached yours.

Her mind raced through the dark, throwing open doors, knocking over cabinets, searching for anything it ever remembered seeing. Then the lightning flashed again. Carolina captured it before it even struck land, a jagged scar of silver light suspended over the black chimneys of a sleeping city. She narrowed her eyes at the incomplete bolt until it shimmered and broke. With one sweeping glance, she cast the bits of light across the eastern sky as stars. Thunder roared in her ears and lightning cut the sky again. Her stars held steady over a ghostly desert. Another bolt charged down the night, but she caught it before it could turn the sand to glass, broke it into pieces, and lit the west.

His first glimpse of Izzy Goodnight was to see her bathed in gold. The sunlight showed him, in blazing relief, a slender, gracefully curved silhouette and a corona of wild, loose hair that seemed to be afire. Holy God.

How can we lead the blind, if we are blind ourselves? His wine is coming to blur our vision, so that we can receive His vision.

I am not so blind that I can't see darkness.

I don't agree that when you love, you are blind or fool. You just get wiser and see clearer what is best and of worth.

If I were a flower, humming bird would be my favourite bee And If I were blind, the light of darkness I'd love to see

I am blinded. I open my eyes wide and only see. But the secret - that I neither see nor feel. Could I be making here a true orgy of what's behind thought?

I chanced on a wonderful book by Marius von Senden, called Space and Sight. . . . For the newly sighted, vision is pure sensation unencumbered by meaning: "The girl went through the experience that we all go through and forget, the moment we are born. She saw, but it did not mean anything but a lot of different kinds of brightness." . . . In general the newly sighted see the world as a dazzle of color-patches. They are pleased by the sensation of color, and learn quickly to name the colors, but the rest of seeing is tormentingly difficult. . . . The mental effort involved . . . proves overwhelming for many patients. It oppresses them to realize, if they ever do at all, the tremendous size of the world, which they had previously conceived of as something touchingly manageable. . . . A disheartening number of them refuse to use their new vision, continuing to go over objects with their tongues, and lapsing into apathy and despair. . . . On the other hand, many newly sighted people speak well of the world, and teach us how dull is our own vision.

If our splintered attention has led us to oblivion and blindness; and the shell has replaced the substance, it may be enlightening to deep-dive into the roots of our negative qualities and find a surprising guideline for the creation of new horizons. ("Not without my shadow")

If the blind must lead the blind, it is as well that the leader knows he is.

If that's what you call truth in this wicked world, no wonder why you're so desperate to defend it.

If the Blind Men could see in their dreams, they would not wake up ever again.

Imagine walking along a sidewalk with your arms full of groceries, and someone roughly bumps into you so that you fall and your groceries are strewn over the ground. As you rise up from the puddle of broken eggs and tomato juice, you are ready to shout out, 'You idiot! What's wrong with you? Are you blind?' But just before you can catch your breath to speak, you see that the person who bumped into you is actually blind. He, too, is sprawled in the spilled groceries, and your anger vanishes in an instant, to be replaced by sympathetic concern: 'Are you hurt? Can I help you up?' Our situation is like that. When we clearly realize that the source of disharmony and misery in the world is ignorance, we can open the door of wisdom and compassion.

In a world filled with liars, some still seem surprised at the lengths to which some will go-yet we fear our own truth & so become numb to our own senses.

In a world darksome as this'n I believe a blind man ort to be better sighted than most.

I didn't realize it until now, but I don't really know anything about them, or what kind of people they are, really. You can't see inside a person's heart.

Injili tunayohubiriwa haina ugumu wowote. Mungu anatutaka tuamini na tunapoamini, tunapopata ufahamu na kuamini kuwa Mwana wa Mungu alikuwa binadamu kama sisi ili sisi tupate kuokolewa, upofu wetu wa kiroho unaanza kuondolewa.

Inside me there was everything I had believed was outside. There was, in particular, the sun, light, and all colors. There were even the shapes of objects and the distance between objects. Everything was there and movement as well… Light is an element that we carry inside us and which can grow there with as much abundance, variety, and intensity as it can outside of us…I could light myself…that is, I could create a light inside of me so alive, so large, and so near that my eyes, my physical eyes, or what remained of them, vibrated, almost to the point of hurting… God is there under a form that has the good luck to be neither religious, not intellectual, nor sentimental, but quite simply alive.

I see in the papers that the singer, Frank Ifield, popular in the fifties, is planning a comeback. I remember reviewing his debut at the Palladium under the insane misapprehension that he was blind. (I had him confused with a blind vocalist who bore a similar name.) I watched agape with admiration while he strolled around the stage with every appearance of knowing where he was going, and I burst into spontaneous applause as he strode down to within a foot of the orchestra pit without the least sign of fear. By the end of his act I was misty with tears at the thought of his courage. I often wonder what he thought when he read the review in which I congratulated him on the gallantry with which he had overcome the handicap of sightlessness.

In the valley of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.

It can happen that if anyone is talking to a person they know cannot see well, they are careless. They permit themselves an expression of face that on other occasions they would not allow.