An echo is a good way to describe the photogram, which is a visual echo of the real object. That's why I like to work with the photogram, because the contact with what is represented is actual. It's as if the border between the world and the print is osmotic.

Do you recall the laughter of the Philistines at the helpless Sampson? You can hear the echo of that laughter to-day, as the church, shorn of her strength by her own sin, is an object of ridicule to the world, who cry in derision, "Where is your boasted triumph and your Millennial glory?

Yes there's a lady that stands in a harbor for what we believe. And there's a bell that still echoes the price that it cost to be free.

Life is an echo. What you send out comes back. What you sow, you reap. What you give, you get. What you see in others, exists in you.

Life is an echo. What you send out comes back.

The melancholy ghosts of dead renown, Whispering faint echoes of the world's applause.

This self now as I leant over the gate looking down over fields rolling in waves of colour beneath me made no answer. He threw up no opposition. He attempted no phrase. His fist did not form. I waited. I listened. Nothing came, nothing. I cried then with a sudden conviction of complete desertion. Now there is nothing. No fin breaks the waste of this immeasurable sea. Life has destroyed me. No echo comes when I speak, no varied words. This is more truly death than the death of friends, than the death of youth.

The intricate engraving, fine lines, beading and milgrain accents echo an era defined by elaborate embellishments.

The blues echoes right through into soul, R&B and hip hop. It's part of the make-up of modern music. You can't turn your back on the blues.

Everything seems an echo of something else.