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"May I disappear in order that those things that I see may become perfect in their beauty from the very fact that they are no longer things I see."

Let me go on being naked. Let it hurt. But let me survive.

Beauty, women's business in this society, is the theater of their enslavement. Only one standard of female beauty is sanctioned: the girl.

— from 'The Double Standard of Aging'

'death, you cannot harm me
more than you have harmed me,
my beloved life.'
— excerpt from October

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.

Hell is a place on earth. Heaven is a place in your head.

'I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against
The want of you;
Of squeezing it into little inkdrops,
And posting it.
And I scald alone, here, under the fire
Of the great moon.'

— excerpt from Amy Lowell's The Letter

Whatever the moral claims made on behalf of photography, its main effect is to convert the world into a department store or museum-without-walls in which every subject is depreciated into an article of consumption, promoted into an item for aesthetic appreciation.

It didn't seem much to ask in a world so crowded with people, just to have one of them, only one out of all the millions, to oneself. Somebody who needed one, who thought of one, who was eager to come to one—oh, oh how dreadfully one wanted to be precious!

“I long for memory to be spirit, but fear it is only skin. I fear that knowledge becomes instinct only to disappear with the body. For it is my body that remembers them, and though I have tried to erase Alex from my senses, tried to will my parents and Bella from my sleep, this will amounts to nothing, for my body betrays me in a second. I have lived many years without them...”

'For who goes away from what he loves”
to destroy his sad love
and its figure
isolates himself divests himself
hides the rest'

'For who goes away from what he loves
to destroy his sad love
and its figure
isolates himself divests himself
hides the rest'

“Some stones are so heavy only silence helps you carry them.”

My father believed in Art and in his dog. Wherever he went, his tick-riddled, shaggy mutt Sandy was with him. Whether it is music, literature, or the visual arts, he believed practicing the arts saved lives.

'What can you know about a person? They shift
in the light. You can't light up all sides at once. Add
a second light and you get a second darkness, it's only
fair.'
— excerpt from PORTRAIT OF FRYDERYK IN SHIFTING LIGHT

'What can you know about a person? They shift
in the light. You can't light up all sides at once. Add
a second light and you get a second darkness, it's only
fair.'
— excerpt from PORTRAIT OF FRYDERYK IN SHIFTING LIGHT

What can you know about a person? They shift
in the light. You can't light up all sides at once. Add
a second light and you get a second darkness, it's only
fair.

Oh, liking is good—loving someone—is good too. But being in love, really being in love: an extremely painful condition. There should be a drug to cure it. How hollowed out you are emotionally, cut off from people and things, you're not seeing any longer, not hearing any longer, everything is sinking–everything becomes profoundly unimportant. The effort to retain an interest in anything is painful and destructive.

It was all spoiled in one day, in a couple of minutes, not by fits and starts, struggles, hopes and losses, in the long-drawn-out way that such things are more often spoiled. And if it’s true that things are usually spoiled, isn’t the quick way the easier way to bear?

Juliet stayed, wide-eyed, rocking on her haunches, face pressed against the heat. She was not quite there. She thought of whoever it was—Trelawney?–snatching Shelley's heart out of the flames. The heart, with its long history of significance. Strange to think how even at that time, not so long ago, one fleshly organ should be thought so precious, the site of courage and love.

Reshaping life! People who can say that have never understood a thing about life—they have never felt its breath, its heart—how much they have seen or done. They look on it as a lump of raw material which needs to be processed by them, to be ennobled by their touch...

Man harnesses his suffering to time. He suffers as a result of the past and extends his suffering into the future. In this way he creates despair.