Anything in history or nature that can be described as changing steadily can be seen as heading toward catastrophe.

The freakish is no longer a private zone, difficult of access. People who are bizarre, in sexual disgrace, emotionally violent areseen daily on the newsstands, on TV, in the subways. Hobbesian man roams the streets, quite visible, with glitter in his hair.

Today everything exists to end in a photograph.

Any important disease whose causality is murky, and for which treatment is ineffectual, tends to be awash in significance.

In NY sensuality completely turns into sexuality - no objects for the senses to respond to, no beautiful river, houses, people. Awful smells of the street, and dirt... Nothing except eating, if that, and the frenzy of the bed.

This is the beauty that emerges from self-confidence, class confidence. That says, I am not born to please. I am born to be pleased.

We live in a world of copies and we're fascinated when we encounter the originals (in a museum, for instance).