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Literature Is That Which He Can Not Read Without Pain, Without Choking On Truth.

For Me The Noise Of Time Is Not Sad: I Love Bells, Clocks, Watches — And I Recall That At First Photographic Implements Were Related To Techniques Of Cabinetmaking And The Machinery Of Precision: Cameras, In Short, Were Clocks For Seeing, And Perhaps In Me Someone Very Old Still Hears In The Photographic Mechanism The Living Sound Of The Wood.

I Call The Discourse Of Power Any Discourse That Engenders Blame, Hence Guilt, In Its Recipient.

In Front Of The Photograph Of My Mother As A Child, I Tell Myself: She Is Going To Die: I Shudder, Like Winnicott's Psychotic Patient, Over A Catastrophe Which Has Already Occurred. Whether Or Not The Subject Is Already Dead, Every Photograph Is This Catastrophe.

A Paradox: The Same Century Invented History And Photography. But History Is A Memory Fabricated According To Positive Formulas, A Pure Intellectual Discourse Which Abolishes Mythic Time; And The Photograph Is A Certain But Fugitive Testimony.