As Small, Quick, Foolproof Cameras Became Generally

It Is The Middle And Pure Height And Whole Of Summer And A Summer Night, The Held Breath, Of A Planet's Year; High Shored Sleeps The Crested Tide: What Day Of The Month I Do Not Know, Which Day Of The Week I Am Not Sure, Far Less What Hour Of The Night.

The Camera Seems To Me, Next To Unassisted And Weaponless Consciousness, The Central Instrument Of Our Time.

Just Spunk Won't Be Enough; You've Got To Have Gumption.

The Camera Is Just A Machine, Which Records With Impressive And As A Rule Very Cruel Faithfulness.

In Every Child Who Is Born, No Matter What Circumstances, And Of No Matter What Parents, The Potentiality Of The Human Race Is Born Again: And In Him, Too, Once More, And Of Each Of Us, Our Terrific Responsibility Toward Human Life; Toward The Utmost Idea Of Goodness, Of The Horror Of Terror, And Of God.