You've always been free. You've always been bright and shining. Everything else is just nonsense.

You are the Self, that perfect immutable Self. Nothing else exists. Nothing else ever existed. Nothing else will ever exist. There is only one Self and you are That. Rejoice!

I keep calling it the I-thought. It's a thought. There is no I. This gives you a clue.

Among the most compelling truths in some of the early photographs is their implication of silence.

The history of art is filled with people who did not live long enough to enjoy a sympathetic public, and their misery argues that criticism should try to speed justice.

Almost all photographers have incurred large expenses in the pursuit of tiny audiences, finding that the wonder they'd hoped to share is something few want to receive.

Silence is, after all, the context for the deepest appreciation of art: the only important evaluations are finally, personal, interior ones.