Robert Doisneau
[Photographer, b. 1912, Gentilly, Val-de-Marne, France, d. 1994, Montrouge, France.]

 The photographer must be absorbent—like a blotter, allow himself to be permeated by the poetic moment... His technique should be like an animal function... he should act automatically. 

Henri Cartier-Bresson
[Photographer and painter, b. 1908, Chanteloup, France, d. 2004, Paris.]

 I’m not responsible for my photographs. Photography is not documentary, but intuition, a poetic experience. It’s drowning yourself, dissolving yourself and then sniff, sniff, sniff—being sensitive to coincidence. You can’t go looking for it; you can’t want it, or you won’t get it. First you must lose your self. Then it happens. 

Octavio Paz
[Poet and writer, b. 1914, Mexico City, d. 1998, Mexico City.]

 Photos:
time dangling from a verbal thread
Black mountain
white cloud,
Girl selling birds 

Frank Horvat
[Photographer, b. 1928, Abbazia, Italy, now Opatija, Croatia, lives in Paris.]

 To me, photography is not just a visual art, but something closer to poetry—or at least to some poetry, such as the haiku. 

Stephen Spender
[Writer, poet, and critic, b. 1909, London, England, d. 1995, London.]

 Dead friend, this picture proves there was an instant
When—mirror of midday—you sent
Shadow and light from living flesh into
The sensitive dark instrument. 

Tod Papageorge
[Photographer, b. 1940, Portsmouth, New Hampshire, lives in New Haven, Connecticut.]

 By being fictions and, at the same moment, returning their subjects to us with a compelling fidelity, both photographs and poems work with the same surprise... both strike us as if they were simultaneously remembrances and revelations. 

Sylvia Plath
[Poet, b. 1932, Boston, Massachusetts, d. 1963, London.]

 It is best to meet in a cul-de-sac,
A palace of velvet
With windows of mirrors.
There one is safe,
There are no family photographs,
No rings through the nose, no cries. 

Walt Whitman
[Writer and poet, b. 1819, South Huntington, Long Island, New York, d. 1892, Camden, New Jersey.]

 You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all that is here,
I believe that much unseen is also here. 
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