Time, That Most Abstract Of Humanity's Homes.

The Moral Backbone Of Literature Is About That Whole Question Of Memory. To My Mind It Seems Clear That Those Who Have No Memory Have The Much Greater Chance To Lead Happy Lives.

One Has The Impression That Something Is Stirring Inside [photographs] - It Is As If One Can Hear Little Cries Of Despair, Gémissements De Désespoir... As If The Photographs Themselves Had A Memory And Were Remembering Us And How We, The Surviving, And Those Who Preceded Us, Once Were.

No One Can Explain Exactly What Happens Within Us When The Doors Behind Which Our Childhood Terrors Lurk Are Flung Open.

Men And Animals Regard Each Other Across A Gulf Of Mutual Incomprehension.

I Believe That The Black-and-white Photograph, Or Rather The Gray Zones In The Black-and-white Photograph, Stand For This Territory That Is Located Between Life And Death.