Love is blind. Friendship closes its eyes.

As long as love is “blind” - that is, as long as it does not see a whole being - it does not yet truly stand under the basic word of relation. Hatred remains blind by its very nature; one can hate only part of a being.

Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly blind. But vanity, not love, has been my folly.

Love, it is said, is blind, but love is not blind. It is an extra eye, which shows us what is most worthy of regard. To see the best is to see most clearly, and it is the lover's privilege.

Where such men love they have no desire and where they desire they cannot love

love is blind
and lovers cannot see
the pretty follies
that themselves commit

Love is not blind, it just looks in the wrong places.

For love is no part of the dreamworld. Love belongs to Desire, and Desire is always cruel.

They say love is blind, but it’s trauma that’s blind. Love sees what is.

Like a moth to a flame
Burned by the fire.
My love is blind
Can't you see my desire?

And what they don't see,
Is what is killing me.
It's blessing and a curse
That love is blind.

Neither love nor terror makes one blind: indifference makes one blind.

"God is love" "Love is blind" If these be true, then God is blind: Simple logic would appear to have escaped the theologians. Res ipsa loquitur, love is not blind, neither God's love nor man's, though we all wish at times to escape God's eye, and though it must at times appear that the lover cannot see what we see—unless, of course, we are ourselves that lover. Like God, the lover sees but forgives.

Love is blind; but it makes you see the blind man; teetering on the roadside . . .