Diane Arbus
Nothing is ever the same as they said it was.It’s what I’ve never seen before that I recognize. — Diane Arbus, Revelations (Random House, 2003)
Category: Photography
Édouard Boubat
When there is love, the world is conquered by lovers. All the better for us: we are enriched by their radiance. Their happiness makes the air purer. A poem incarnate. It is beyond criticism. It defies explanation. That defiance is the nature of the poem. — Édouard Boubat, Notebooks, 1998
Jorge Luis Borges
No one is anyone, one single immortal man is all men. Like Cornelius Agrippa, I am god, I am hero, I am philosopher, I am demon and I am world, which is a tedious way of saying that I do not exist. — Jorge Luis Borges, “The Immortal,” Labyrinths: Selected Stories & Other Writings. (New… Continue reading Jorge Luis Borges
Jean-Paul Sartre
I’m going to smile, and my smile will sink down into your pupils, and heaven knows what it will become. — Jean-Paul Sartre, No Exit and Three Other Plays. (Vintage; Reissue edition, October 23, 1989) Originally published 1947.
Loueva Smith
The clouds go on breathing. They go on gathering cold rain, and drawing with chalk. — Loueva Smith, from “Clouds Live Forever,” Vanishing Points: Poems and Photographs of Texas Roadside Memorials, ed. Sarah Cortez (Texas Review Press, 2016)
Sarah Cortez
[Give] me leave to forget you, darling, so I can be a man again. Instead of the empty flapping of a large bird’s wings. — Sarah Cortez, from “Orpheus Speaks,” Vanishing Points: Poems and Photographs of Texas Roadside Memorials, ed. Sarah Cortez (Texas Review Press, 2016)
Auguste Rodin
It is the artist who is truthful, while the photographer is mendacious; for, in reality, time never stops cold. — Auguste Rodin
Nan Goldin
I used to think that I could never lose anyone if I photographed them enough. In fact, my pictures show me how much I’ve lost. — Nan Goldin
Lauren E. Simonutti
Sometimes the difference between living and dying is just a little bit. Sometimes the difference between living and dying is just a sigh. — Lauren E. Simonutti (1968-2012)
Mahvash Mossaed
The poets stand in the rain. They wear no raincoats. They have no umbrellas. They are discussing the shadow of a shadow of a shadow. But their poetry is already soaking wet— They have not developed their reality muscles So they walk with a limp while admiring the color of a vein in a leaf.… Continue reading Mahvash Mossaed
The Vale of Soul-Making 