When it's mutual, a man and a woman know, instinctively, wordlessly. They may do nothing about it, but the knowledge of that shared desire is out there in the world - as obvious as neon, saying: I want you, I want you, I want you.

I tend to admire dead people more than the living. All too often, human reality diminishes the glowing reputation.

The last thing we ever learn about ourselves is our effect.

The only times we are consciously aware of the authorship of a photograph, I would argue, are when we contemplate the photographs we ourselves have taken (or those of friends and family) or when we go deliberately to the photographers monograph or exhibition. The signed image - the appropriated, the owned image - is by far the rarest in this pullulating world of pictures.

In the broad spectrum of the arts, two worlds rarely overlap - the literary world and the world of rock music.

We keep a journal to entrap that collection of selves that forms us, the individual human being.

Sometimes limbo is a tolerable place to be stuck.