The coherent way of investigating any field is to examine its possible relatedness to other things.

Life itself is not the reality. We are the ones who put life into stones and pebbles.

The Art of Vermeer must have been there on the morning of creation.

My photographs are not pure: they are a seething wealth of imperfection.

Ideas and thoughts collide and sort themselves out in these fruitful collisions.

Art is not arbitrary. A fine painting is not there by accident; it is not arrived at by chance. We are sensitive to tonalities.

The smallest modification of tonality affects structure. Some things have to be rather large, but elegance is the presentation of things in their minimum dimensions.

We work for that part of our vision which is uncompleted.

The field of action of a photograph should be that chessboard of the heart and mind upon which poetry and art have always operated

Choice and chance structure art and nature.

Art accepts what it finds.

You marry who you think your beloved is, and then discover who they really are over the years. It’s that discovery that makes a marriage work.

Everyone wants to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down.

The main point of enlightenment is man's release from his self-caused immaturity, primarily in matters of religion.

One conversation with a wise man is better than ten years of study in a public school.

The Glory was entrusted to you, you weren't given permission to pass it on as you see fit.

There are potential policy consequences to a president who doesn't believe in our election system and believes that there's rampant voter fraud.

Thich Nhat Hanh has the ability to bring forth the state of peace that we each inherently posses merely by his presence in a room-this is divine power.

Autumn is no time to lie alone

I am ever fascinated by the human experience and by, actually, human beings.

October turned my maple's leaves to gold; The most are gone now; here and there one lingers: Soon these will slip from the twigs' weak hold, Like coins between a dying miser's fingers.