A Quote by Junot Diaz

We all have a blind spot and it's shaped exactly like us. — © Junot Diaz
We all have a blind spot and it's shaped exactly like us.
Justice Jefferson has a blind spot on race. You know, more than a blind spot. A terrible blemish on his legacy, slavery, for which he's properly excoriated. So, I think [Louis] Brandeis has done this as well.
Everybody's a racist. It's the one human trait that makes us all exactly the same. Deep down, we only like people who are exactly like us. And it doesn't matter. White. Black. Red. Yellow. Purple, uh oh, the purple people, are the worst. Man. All prejudiced and birth marky. But, we've got to learn to get past our differences. I learned that at the museum of tolerance. After my dad beat the crap out of a guy over a parking spot.
The brain "fills in" the missing information from the blind spot. Notice what you see in the location of the dot when it's in your blind spot. When the dot disappears, you do not perceive a hole of whiteness or blackness in its place; instead your brain invents a patch of the background pattern. Your brain, with no information from that particular spot in visual space, fills in with the patterns around it. You're not perceiving what's out there. You're perceiving whatever your brain tells you.
For me, on every project, I realize that I've boxed myself into a corner, or that the play necessitates some sort of theatrical convention that I realize I hate while I'm making it. So then the next play is always a rebellion. Or like, the thing I didn't even realize I was doing last time I will make sure I don't do this time. But there's always some other blind spot. And then that blind spot inspires the play that comes after.
In this busy modernized age, it's easy to be blind to the light all around us. You see, there truly are real angels living among us that look just like you and I. If you pay attention, you can spot one because they're quite easy to find. They're the souls with the eternally deep eyes that always act like something is broken inside, but fail to realize it's just their wings.
I am visible-see this Indian face-yet I am invisible. I both blind them with my beak nose and am their blind spot. But I exist, we exist. They'd like to think I have melted in the pot. But I haven't. We haven't.
Because your brain uses information from the areas around the blind spot to make a reasonable guess about what the blind spot would see if only it weren't blind, and then your brain fills in the scene with this information. That's right, it invents things, creates things, makes stuff up! It doesn't consult you about this, doesn't seek your approval. It just makes its best guess about the nature of the missing information and proceeds to fill in the scene.
If you are strong you can take a punch and not flinch, but if you have a sore spot, a nudge on that sore spot will make you scream. Muslims committed the huge blunder of revealing their vulnerability. Now the world knows what hurts them. When you find your opponent's weak spot, it is exactly where you want to hit him.
There are eyes everywhere. No blind spot left. What shall we dream of when everything becomes visible? We'll dream of being blind.
I think when you are truly stuck, when you have stood still in the same spot for too long, you throw a grenade in exactly the spot you were standing in, and jump, and pray. It is the momentum of last resort.
I believe God put that itchy spot on our backs just exactly where we can't reach it in order to encourage us be nice to each other.
It is only the story...that saves our progeny from blundering like blind beggars into the spikes of the cactus fence.The story is our escort;without it,we are blind.Does the blind man own his escort?No,neither do we the story;rather,it is the story that owns us.
I don't wanna be shaped like a girl. I love being shaped like a woman, and trust me ladies, your man won't mind either.
Seeing-is-believing is a blind spot in man's vision.
Religion has become the blind spot of American journalism.
In our town there is a secret spot where you can still see the stars at night, believe it or not. It is the only spot like that left, unclouded by the dwindling skyscrapers rising nearby. It is a good place to go to walk and talk in whispers. Following the little hill that rises from the park to a small clearing which overlooks the statue of the armless general on his bronze steed, most of us later remember this spot as the first place we knew we might be in love.
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