It is in a small village in the Pyrenees where no one knows me 7that my life will come to a close.... There is not enough time remaining for me to write all the letters I would like to write.

No poem is intended for the reader, no picture for the beholder, no symphony for the listener.

It is in a small village in the Pyrenees where no one knows me 7that my life will come to a close.... There is not enough time remaining for me to write all the letters I would like to write.

Capitalism is a purely cultic religion, perhaps the most extreme that ever existed.

Gifts must affect the receiver to the point of shock.

[Photography] has become more and more subtle, more and more modern, and the result is that it is now incapable of photographing a tenement or a rubbish heap without transfiguring it. Not to mention a river dam or electric cable factory: in front of these, photography can now only say, How beautiful!

The more circumspectly you delay writing down an idea, the more maturely developed it will be on surrendering itself.