Pleasure of tragedy is vicarious suicide.
All great art contains at its center contemplation, a dynamic contemplation.
How much self-love comes in the guise of selfless devotion!
Desire wills its perpetuation ad infinitum.
All aesthetic judgment is really cultural evaluation.
I vulgarize my feelings by speaking of them too readily to others.
I discovered that I am tired of being a person. Not just tired of being the person I was, but any person at all.
Photographs shock insofar as they show something novel.
Illness is the night side of life, a more onerous citizenship. Everyone who is born holds dual citizenship, in the kingdom of the well and in the kingdom of the sick. Although we all prefer to use the good passport, sooner or later each of us is obliged, at least for a spell, to identify ourselves as citizens of that other place.
Surrealism is a bourgeois disaffection; that its militants thought it universal is only one of the signs that it is typically bourgeois.
Time evaporate, money is always needed, comforts found where they were not expected and excitement dug up in barren ground.
Up to a point, the weight and seriousness of such photographs survive better in a book, where one can look privately, linger over the pictures, without talking. Still, at some moment the book will be closed. The strong emotion will become a transient one.
People don't become inured to what they are shown - if that's the right way to describe what happens - because of the quantity of images dumped on them. It is passivity that dulls feeling. The states described as apathy, moral or emotional anesthesia, are full of feelings; the feelings are rage and frustration.
To photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves, by having knowledge of them that they can never have; it turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed. Just as a camera is a sublimation of the gun, to photograph someone is a subliminal murder - a soft murder, appropriate to a sad, frightened time.
Strictly speaking, nothing that's said is true.
My urge to write is an urge not to self-expressionism but to self-transcendence. My work is both bigger and smaller than I am.
Silence remains, inescapably, a form of speech.
What I write is smarter than I am. Because I can rewrite it.
Most people in this society who aren't actively mad are, at best, reformed or potential lunatics.
Interpretation, based on the highly dubious theory that a work of art is composed of items of content, violates art.
One criticizes in others what one recognizes and despises in oneself. For example, an artist who is revolted by another's ambitiousness.