Jacques-Henri Lartigue
[Photographer, b. 1894, Courbevoie, France, d. 1986, Nice, France.]

 To talk about photos rather than making them seems idiotic to me. It’s as though I went on and on about a woman I adored instead of making love to her. 
 One shouldn’t be only two photographers but thousands. 
 What’s so incredibly amusing with photography is that while seemingly an art of the surface, it catches things I haven’t even noticed. And it pains me not to have seen things in all their depth. 
 I have two pairs of eyes—one to paint, and one to take photographs. There is little relationship between the two. 
 Photography is a magic thing. A thing that has mysterious odors, a little strange and frightening, something one quickly grows to love. 
 The golden rule is “work fast.” As for framing, composition, focus—this is no time to start asking yourself questions: you just have to trust your intuition and the sharpness of your reflexes. 
 Papa is like God (as a matter of fact, he might even be God in disguise). He’s just told me, “I’m going to give you your own camera.” Now I will be able to make portraits of everything... everything. (Childhood diary entry, 1901) 
 Robert, Zissou and Louis are too big and I am too small. Most of the time they won’t let me play with them; I have to be a spectator. (Entry in childhood diary) 
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