We Only See What We Look At.

The Heart Of Paris Is Like Nothing So Much As The Unending Interior Of A House. Buildings Become Furniture, Courtyards Become Carpets And Arrases, The Streets Are Like Galleries, The Boulevards Conservatories. It Is A House, One Or Two Centuries Old, Rich, Bourgeois, Distinguished. The Only Way Of Going Out, Or Shutting The Door Behind You, Is To Leave The Centre.

The True Content Of A Photograph Is Invisible, For It Derives From A Play, Not With Form, But With Time.

You Painted A Naked Woman Because You Enjoyed Looking At Her, Put A Mirror In Her Hand And You Called The Painting “vanity,” Thus Morally Condemning The Woman Whose Nakedness You Had Depicted For You Own Pleasure.

We Live In A Dominant Culture Of Ceaseless Departure And Progress That Has So Far Lasted Two Or Three Centuries.

Publicity Is The Life Of This Culture - In So Far As Without Publicity Capitalism Could Not Survive - And At The Same Time Publicity Is Its Dream.