I Was Only Photographing In Words The

The Blankets Had Fallen Off And I Stared Down At Her White Back, The Shoulder Blades Sticking Out As If They Wanted To Grow Into Wings, Poke Through That Skin. Little Blades. She Was Helpless.

I Always Started A Job With The Feeling That I'd Soon Quit Or Be Fired, And This Gave Ma A Relaxex Manner That Was Mistaken For Intelligence Or Some Secret Power.

Life Itself Is Not The Miracle. That Pain Should Be So Constant, That's The Miracle -

There's Nothing To Mourn About Death Any More Than There Is To Mourn About The Growing Of A Flower. What Is Terrible Is Not Death But The Lives People Live Or Don't Live Up Until Their Death.

The Artist," An Ancient Sage Had Once Said, "is Always Sitting On The Doorsteps Of The Rich.