You must see it. You must believe it. And then you must never stop working to make it happen.
Don't touch me! Don't question me! Don't speak to me! Stay with me!
Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.
Don't look for meaning in the words. Listen to the silences.
Words and images run riot in my head, pursuing, flying, clashing, merging, endlessly. But beyond this tumult there is a great calm, and a great indifference, never really to be troubled by anything again.
That's the mistake I made, one of the mistakes, to have wanted a story for myself, whereas life alone is enough.
Perhaps that's what I feel, an outside and an inside and me in the middle, perhaps that's what I am, the thing that divides the world in two, on the one side the outside, on the other the inside, that can be as thin as foil, I'm neither one side nor the other, I'm in the middle, I'm the partition, I've two surfaces and no thickness, perhaps that's what I feel, myself vibrating, I'm the tympanum, on the one hand the mind, on the other the world, I don't belong to either.
The concentration camps, by making death itself anonymous (making it impossible to find out whether a prisoner is dead or alive), robbed death of its meaning as the end of a fulfilled life. In a sense they took away the individual’s own death, proving that henceforth nothing belonged to him and he belonged to no one. His death merely set a seal on the fact that he had never existed.
When I was a kid I started a baseball team. I was a terrible player, but I put together a group of neighborhood kids. I started a hockey team. I put the kids together and got a sponsor. So I can always kind of organize people and get things done.
I try to photograph my own and society's hypocrisy.
Baptists are very strong believers that the civil magistrate is ordained by God to punish those who do evil.