When I walk with a camera, I walk from shot to shot, reading the light on a calibrated meter. When I walk without a camera, my own shutter opens, and the moment's light prints on my own silver gut. When I see this second way I am above all an unscrupulous observer.

The point of going somewhere like the Napo River in Ecuador is not to see the most spectacular anything. It is simply to see what is there.

For all the insularity of the old guard, Pittsburgh was always an open and democratic town.

What a hideout: Holiness lies spread and borne over the surface of time and stuff like color.

I cannot cause light; the most I can do is try to put myself in the path of its beam. It is possible, in deep space, to sail on solar wind. Light, be it particle or wave, has force: you can rig a giant sail and go. The secret of seeing is to sail on solar wind. Hone and spread your spirit till you yourself are a sail, whetted, translucent, broadside to the merest puff

I work mornings only. I go out to lunch. Afternoons I play with the baby, walk with my husband, or shovel mail.

Our life seems cursed to be a wiggle merely, and a wandering without end.