I am profoundly uncertain how to write. I know what I love and what I like, because it's a direct passionate response. But when I write, I'm very uncertain whether it's good enough. That is, of course, the writer's agony.

It's a pleasure to share one's memories. Everything remembered is dear, endearing, touching, precious. At least the past is safe though we didn't know it at the time. We know it now. Because it's in the past; because we have survived.

Never worry about being obsessive. I like obsessive people. Obsessive people make great art

The question of the social uses of photography opens out into the very largest issues of the self, of the relationship to community, to reality.

With more people, there are more voices to tune out.

In the journal I do not just express myself more openly than I could to any person; I create myself.

The truth is always something that is told, not something that is known. If there were no speaking or writing, there would be no truth about anything. There would only be what is.