The vast number of photographers, feeding on anything visible, overgraze the landscape the way cattle overgraze their pasture.

We make to ourselves pictures of facts. The picture is a model of reality

Writes have an island, a center of refuge, within themselves. It is the mind's anchorage, the soul's Great Good Place.

Writing has made me rich-not in money but in a couple hundred characters out there, whose pursuits and anguish and triumphs I've shared. I am unspeakably grateful at the life I have come to lead.

As the style of Faulkner grew out of his rage--out of the impotence of his rage--the style of Hemingway grew out of the depth andnuance of his disenchantment.

The photograph, after all, is just a photograph. Words will determine its meaning and status.

The past is useless. That explains why it is past.