“The Autodidact doesn’t seem to want to talk. What a curious look he is giving me: it isn’t a look to see with, but rather one for a communion of souls. The Autodidact’s soul has risen to the surface of his magnificent blind man’s eyes. If mine does the same, if it comes and presses its nose against the window panes, the two of them can exchange greetings.
I don’t want a communion of souls, I haven’t fallen so low. I draw back.”—Sartre (Nausea)