Princess Anne Mountbatten-Windsor
[British royalty, b. 1950, London, lives in London.]

 You are a pest by the very nature of that camera in your hand. (To a photographer) 

Donald McCullin
[Photographer, b. 1935, Finsbury Park, London, lives in Somerset, England.]

 I feel shabby—because I’ve made a name, quite a good name, out of photography. And I still find myself asking the same questions: Who am I? What am I supposed to be? What have I done? 

Toni Morrison
[Writer, b. 1931, Lorain, Ohio, lives in Princeton, New Jersey.]

 At some point in life the world’s beauty becomes enough. You don’t need to photograph, paint or even remember it. It is enough. 

Charles Moore
[Photographer, b. 1921, Hackleburg, Alabama, d. 2010, Palm Beach, Florida.]

 In Birmingham when I saw the dogs I don’t think anything appalled me more, and I’ve been to Vietnam. I photographed it, and the world rushed in. I realized the power of even one image. 

Thomas Mann
[Writer, b. 1875, Lübeck, Germany, d. 1955, Zurich, Switzerland.]

 The process of decay was forestalled by the powers of the light-ray, the flesh in which he walked disintegrated, annihilated, dissolved in vacant mist, and there within it was the finely turned skeleton of his own hand, the seal ring he had inherited from his grandfather hanging loose and black on the joint of his ring-finger—a hard, material object with which man adorns the body that is fated to melt away beneath it, when it passes on to another flesh that can wear it yet a little while. 

Lewis Mumford
[Writer and critic, b. 1895, Flushing, New York, d. 1990, New York.]

 A picture was once a rare sort of symbol, rare enough to call for attentive concentration. Now it is the actual experience that is rare, and the picture has become ubiquitous. 

Martin Munkacsi
[Photographer, b. 1898, Kolozsvár, Hungary, (now Cluj-Napoca, Romania), d. 1963, New York.]

 Never pose your subjects. Let them move about naturally... All great photographs today are snapshots. (1935) 

André Malraux
[Writer, critic, and politician, b. 1901, Paris, d. 1975, Paris.]

 The greatest mystery is not that we have been flung at random between the profusion of the earth and the galaxy of the stars but that in this prison we can fashion images of ourselves sufficiently powerful to deny our nothingness.