A one-eyed man is much more incomplete than a blind man, for he knows what it is that's lacking.
Nobody loves the light like the blind man.
The tomb is not a blind alley: it is a thoroughfare. It closes on the twilight. It opens on the dawn.
Let us say it now: to be blind and to be loved, is indeed, upon this earth where nothing is complete, one of the most strangely exquisite forms of happiness.