Where You Are Tender, You Speak Your

I Encounter Millions Of Bodies In My Life; Of These Millions, I May Desire Some Hundreds; But Of These Hundreds, I Love Only One.

Fashion Postulates An Achrony, A Time Which Does Not Exist; Here The Past Is Shameful And The Present Is Constantly "eaten Up" By The Fashion Being Heralded.

The Photograph Belongs To That Class Of Laminated Objects Whose Two Leaves Cannot Be Separated Without Destroying Them Both: The Windowpane And The Landscape, And Why Not: Good And Evil, Desire And Its Object: Dualities We Can Conceive But Not Perceive... Whatever It Grants To Vision And Whatever Its Manner, A Photograph Is Always Invisible: It Is Not It That We See.

Great Portrait Photographers Are Great Mythologists.

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.