All photographs aspire to the condition of being memorable - that is, unforgettable.

The possession of a camera can inspire something akin to lust. And like all credible forms of lust, it cannot be satisfied.

When Cartier-Bresson goes to China, he shows that there are people in China, and that they are Chinese.

You can go into all sorts of situations with a camera and people will think they should serve it.

To photograph is to confer importance.

So successful has been the camera's role in beautifying the world that photographs, rather than the world, have become the standard of the beautiful.

A family's photograph album is generally about the extended family and, often, is all that remains of it.

To collect photographs is to collect the world.

Photography - the supreme form of travel, of tourism - is the principal modern means for enlarging the world. As a branch of art, photography's enterprise of world enlargement tends to specialize in the subjects felt to be challenging, transgressive. A photograph may be telling us: this too exists. And that. And that. (And it is all 'human.') But what are we to do with this knowledge - if indeed it is knowledge, about, say, the self, about abnormality, about ostracized or clandestine worlds?