Desire has no history.

The romantic treatment of death asserts that people were made singular, made more interesting, by their illnesses.

The point is to get a good rhythm, to make it mindless, almost as a daydream. To walk like breathing. To make it what the body wants, what the air wants, what time wants.

That even an apocalypse can be made to seem part of the ordinary horizon of expectation constitutes an unparalleled violence that is being done to our sense of reality, to our humanity.

To photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves, by having knowledge of them that they can never have.

Translation is the circulatory system of the world's literatures

Ultimately ideas come out of a temperament or a sensibility, they are a crystallization or a precipitation of temperament.