If we reduce social life to the smallest possible unit we will find that there is no social life in the company of one.

[Nabokov's] language is made visible . . . like a veil or transparent curtain. You cannot help seeing the curtain as you peek into the intimate rooms behind.

There must be no worse punishment to a totalitarian nation than the withdrawal of capital.

Life is a state of mind.

Chance was to work in the garden, where he would care for plants and grasses and trees which grew there peacefully. He would be as one on them: quiet, open hearted in the sunshine and heavy when it rained.

In my photographs it is apparent that there was no posing at the moment I released the shutter.

Physical comfort has nothing to do with any other comfort.