There are more and more taboos about calling something, anything, ugly.

Writing is finally a series of permissions you give yourself to be expressive in certain ways. To leap. To fly. To fail.

Writing is a little door. Some fantasies, like big pieces of furniture, won’t come through.

Nothing is mysterious, no human relation. Except love.

The camera can be lenient; it is can also expert at being cruel. But its cruelty only produces another kind of beauty, according to the surrealist preferences which rule photographic taste.

Along with people who pretty themselves for the camera, the unattractive and the disaffected have been assigned their beauty.

Ideas disturb the levelness of life