When men die, they enter history. When statues die, they enter art. This botany of death is what we call culture.

Who said that time heals all wounds? It would be better to say that time heals everything - except wounds. With time, the hurt of separation loses its real limits. With time, the desired body will soon disappear, and if the desiring body has already ceased to exist for the other, then what remains is a wound, disembodied.

...after a certain quantity, photos apparently taken by chance, postcards chosen according to a passing mood, begin to trace an itinerary, to map the imaginary country that stretches out before us.

Rarely has reality needed so much to be imagined.

When men die, they enter history. When statues die, they enter art. This botany of death is what we call culture.

We feel more emotion... before an amateur photograph linked to our own life history than before the work of a Great Photographer, because his domain partakes of art, and the intent of the souvenir-object remains at the lower level of personal history.

I chose a pseudonym, Chris Marker, pronounceable in most languages, because I was very intent on traveling.