...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.

...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.

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.

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

In another time I guess I would have been content with filming girls and cats. But you don’t choose your time.

I’ve been round the world several times and now only banality still interests me.

An object dies when the gaze that lights on it has disappeared.