On the level of simple sensation and mood, making love surely resembles an epileptic fit at least as much as, if not more than, it does eating a meal or conversing with someone.

Needing to have reality confirmed and experience enhanced by photographs is an aesthetic consumerism to which everyone is now addicted. Industrial societies turn their citizens into image-junkies; it is the most irresistible form of mental pollution.

Strictly speaking, it is doubtful that a photograph can help us understand anything.

A good listener: a physical presence that is warm, alert, intelligent - more important than any words.

As photographs give people an imaginary possession of a past that is unreal, they also help people to take possession of space in which they are insecure.

Most of my reading is rereading.

The writer is either a practicing recluse or a delinquent, guilt-ridden one--or both. Usually both.