As time passes by and you look at portraits, the people come back to you like a silent echo. A photograph is a vestige of a face, a face in transit. Photography has something to do with death. It's a trace.

With the one eye that is closed, one looks within, with the other eye that is open, one looks without.

In photography, the smallest thing can be a great subject. The little, human detail can become a Leitmotiv.

We cannot develop and print a memory.

The creative act lasts but a brief moment, a lightning instant of give-and-take, just long enough for you to level the camera and to trap the fleeting prey in your little box.

The camera can be a machine gun, a warm kiss, a sketchbook. Shooting a camera is like saying, Yes, yes, yes. There is no maybe. All the maybes should go in the trash.

And no photographs taken with the aid of flashlight either, if only out of respect of the actual light—even when there isn't any of it.