Human beings – they go on being born and dying, dying and being born. It’s kind of boring, isn’t it?
Better to be caught in sudden, complete catastrophe than to be gnawed by the cancer of imagination.
Quite possibly, what I call happiness may coincide with what others call the moment of imminent danger.
It is a rather risky matter to discuss a happiness that has no need of words.
Human life is limited but I would like to live forever.
The special quality of hell is to see everything clearly down to the last detail.
The period of childhood is a stage on which time and space become entangled.
I want to make a poem of my life.
The past does not only draw us back to the past. There are certain memories of the past that have strong steel springs and, when we who live in the present touch them, they are suddenly stretched taut and then they propel us into the future.
Within those confining walls, teachers – a bunch of men all armed with the same information – gave the same lectures every year from the same notebooks and every year at the same point in the textbooks made the same jokes.
I seemed like a baby bird keeping its truly innocent animal lusts hidden under its wing. I was being tempted, not by the desire of possession, but simply by unadorned temptation itself.
There’s a huge seal called ‘impossibility’ pasted all over this world. And don’t ever forget that we’re the only ones who can tear it off once and for all.
By means of microscopic observation and astronomical projection the lotus flower can become the foundation for an entire theory of the universe and an agent whereby we may perceive Truth.
If we value so highly the dignity of life, how can we not also value the dignity of death No death may be called futile.
When silence is prolonged over a certain period of time, it takes on new meaning.
Is there not a sort of remorse that precedes sin? Was it remorse at the very fact that I existed?
I had no taste for defeat – much less victory – without a fight.
Actually the action called a kiss represented nothing more for me than some place where my spirit could seek shelter.
If the photographer is to create works that will stand for his spirit in the same way as artists in other genres, he must first – having no ready-made, abstract components such as works and sounds – supply other means to abstraction instead.
It seems to me that before the photograph can exist as art it must, by its very nature choose whether it is to be a record or a testimony.