It must always be considered as though spoken by a character in a novel

I encounter millions of bodies in my life; of these millions, I may desire some hundreds; but of these hundreds, I love only one.

There is only one way left to escape the alienation of present day society: to retreat ahead of it.

Is not the most erotic part of the body wherever the clothing affords a glimpse?

When we define the Photograph as a motionless image, this does not mean only that the figures it represents do not move; it means that they do not (i)emerge(i), do not (i)leave(i): they are anesthetized and fastened down, like butterflies.

For me the noise of Time is not sad: I love bells, clocks, watches — and I recall that at first photographic implements were related to techniques of cabinetmaking and the machinery of precision: cameras, in short, were clocks for seeing, and perhaps in me someone very old still hears in the photographic mechanism the living sound of the wood.

To try to write love is to confront the muck of language: that region of hysteria where language is both too much and too little, excessive and impoverished.