There is indeed something omnivorous about the act of photography. It offers a way of responding to everything about everything.

Travel is the only context in which some people ever look around. If we spent half the energy looking at our own neighborhoods, we'd probably learn twice as much.

Conceptual art, for me, means work in which the idea is paramount and the material form is secondary, lightweight, ephemeral, cheap, unpretentious and/or ‘dematerialized’

Why are we still afraid of being other than men? Women are still in hiding.

A piece of paper or a photograph is as much an object, or as 'material' as a ton of lead.

Men have dominated the field of landscape photography just as they have dominated the land itself. Thus shooting a virgin landscape has been man's work - hunting, not gardening.

The camera was another weapon in the wars of domination.

Photographers find themselves directly in competition with mass media's misrepresentations of women. So the photographic terrain is particularly contested from a political point of view.

If you wish to befriend someone, look for a person who loves first God then themselves. If they love God, they will be able to love their neighbor, too.

All you can ever achieve is a sense of your soul. You gain little glimpses of its light, colors, and contours. You feel the inspiration of its possibilities and the wonder of its mysteries.

There is only one real deprivation... and that is not to be able to give one's gifts to those one loves most.

I was always treated as if I had insisted on being born, in opposition to the dictates of reason, religion, and morality, and against the dissuadinig arguments of my best friends.

The present never ages. Each moment is like a snowflake, unique, unspoiled, unrepeatable, and can be appreciated in its surprisingness.

Things are no longer what they seem to be. My telephones are haunted, and animals whisper at me from unseen places.

I asked for bread, and I got a stone in the shape of a pedestal.

I live, like every real man, in my work.

I dreamed I saw the silver spaceships flying in the yellow haze of the sun. There were children crying and colors flying all around the chosen ones.

Subjective time flows forward, the phenomenal self is embedded into this flow, an inner history unfolds. That it is why it is not a bubble, but a tunnel: There is movement in time.