Since these mysteries exceed my grasp, I shall pretend to have organized them.

Compromise yourself. Obscure your own trail.

The runner stopped dead, lost his balance, froze in one of those violent attitudes in which the photographers petrify living reality.

The Louvre is a morgue; you go there to identify your friends.

How our old friend [Michelangelo] of the Sistine would have loved to photograph his workers, perched on the fragile planks. Dali was right to say Leonardo only worked from photographs.

And history becomes legend and legend becomes history.

You've never seen death? Look in the mirror every day and you will see it like bees working in a glass hive.