“To take a photograph is to participate in another person’s mortality, vulnerability, mutability. Precisely by slicing out this moment and freezing it, all photographs testify to time’s relentless melt.”

A writer, I think, is someone who pays attention to the world.

Time eventually positions most photographs, even the most amateurish, at the level of art.

It is not the position, but the disposition.

A photograph is not only an image (as a painting is an image), an interpretation of the real; it is also a trace, something directly stenciled off the real, like a footprint or a death mask.

All my life I’ve been looking for someone intelligent to talk to.

I don’t care about someone being intelligent; any situation between people, when they are really human with each other, produces ‘intelligence.

My library is an archive of longings.

In place of a hermeneutics we need an erotics of art.

How boring just to be a body.

I urge you to be as impudent as you dare. BE BOLD, BE BOLD, BE BOLD.

No ‘we’ should be taken for granted when the subject is looking at other people’s pain.

It is easier to endure than to change. But once one has changed, what was endured is hard to recall.

I envy paranoids; they actually feel people are paying attention to them.

I’m only interested in people engaged in a project of self-transformation.

Books are funny little portable pieces of thought.

Photographers are always imposing.

Your hardest times often lead to the greatest moments of your life. Keep going. Tough situations build strong people in the end.

Nothing is everything that doesn’t happen at this very moment.

Living in the past stops you from moving forward, and living in the future stops you from living in the moment.

You don’t get explanations in real life. You just get moments that are absolutely, utterly, inexplicably odd.

Some memories never leave you, some moments never fade away, sometimes the trauma is persistent even if all your scars have healed.

Maybe it’s enough just to live life moment to moment. The most cliche but a true reminder: The past is gone and the future is not guaranteed.

Picked up the guitar, and within seconds everyone was on their feet. I’ll never forget this moment.

She had a precious light in her heart, that kept him alive in the moments he desired death, she was his savior.