It Is Not I Who Become Addicted,

Nothing Is More Intriguing Than A Still Photograph In The Middle Of A Motion Picture... Just As An Accident Is A Cry Changed Into Silence And Not A Silence After A Cry, Photography Is Speed Rendered Motionless.

The Artist Is A Kind Of Prison From Which The Works Of Art Escape.

Poets Don't Draw. They Unravel Their Handwriting And Then Tie It Up Again, But Differently.

One Of The Characteristics Of The Dream Is That Nothing Surprises Us In It. With No Regret, We Agree To Live In It With Strangers, Completely Cut Off From Our Habits And Friends.

The Runner Stopped Dead, Lost His Balance, Froze In One Of Those Violent Attitudes In Which The Photographers Petrify Living Reality.