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. 

Luc Delahaye
[Photographer, b. 1962, Tours, France, lives in Paris.]

 What you want to be is a poet…. To voice the real and at the same time create an image that is a world in itself, with its own coherence, its autonomy and sovereignty; an image that thinks. 

Tristan Tzara (Sami Rosenstock)
[Writer and artist, b. 1896, Moineti, Bacu, Romania, d. 1963, Paris.]

 gloomy procession oh mechanics of the calendar
where the synthetic photographs of days appear
the doll in the grave  

Alec Soth
[Photographer, b. 1969, Minneapolis, Minnesota, lives in Saint Paul, Minnesota.]

 [Photography is] very related to poetry. It’s suggestive and fragmentary and unsatisfying in a lot of ways. It’s as much about what you leave out as what you put in. 

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. 

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. 

Anders Petersen
[Photographer, b. 1944, Solna, Sweden, lives in Stockholm.]

 (Be wary of:
nicely formulated principles and truths.
useless feelings of guilt and sins of the past
or while we’re at it
a
photograph resembling pretty adjectives
on the other hand, I like private
diaries and family albums
 

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. 
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