His view of time, and of change, has become that of most elderly people: he hates change, since for him - for his body - any change is for the worse. And if there is to be change, then he wants it to happen quickly, so it does not use up too much of the time remaining to him.

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

Today everything exists to end in a photograph.

Love words, agonize over sentences. And pay attention to the world.

Reality has come to seem more and more like what we are shown by cameras.

Nothing is mysterious, no human relation. Except love.

Art today is a new kind of instrument, an instrument for modifying consciousness and organizing new modes of sensibility . . . . Artists have had to become self-conscious aestheticians: continually challenging their means, their materials and methods.