It will not fall away. Man cannot judge it. For art sings of God, and ultimately belongs to Him.

The things I thought would happen didn't. Things I never anticipated unfolded.

We were as Hansel and Gretel and we ventured out into the black forest of the world.

Robert was concerned with how to make the photograph, and I with how to be the photograph.

I wanted to remember the original energy; strip away all the glamour and limousines and tons of drugs. I wanted to get back to the revolutionary ideas, merging poetry and rhythm and rock and roll.

I like my time on earth. And no matter what kind of cards I've been dealt, I'm happy to be there.

There were days, rainy gray days, when the streets of Brooklyn were worthy of a photograph, every window the lens of a Leica, the view grainy and immobile. We gathered our colored pencils and sheets of paper and drew like wild, feral children into the night, until, exhausted, we fell into bed. We lay in each other's arms, still awkward but happy, exchanging breathless kisses into sleep.