The soul is innocent and immortal, it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse.

what sphinx of cement and aluminium bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination

Scientist alone is true poet.

What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you, Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by the watermelons?

Naked in solitary prison cell he looks down at a hard-on.

The poignancy of a photograph comes from looking back to a fleeting moment in a floating world. The transitoriness is what creates the sense of the sacred

You can't photograph everything.