Peter Conrad
[Critic, b. 1948, Hobart, Tasmania, lives in Oxford, England.]

 The camera is a killing chamber, which speeds up the time it claims to be conserving. Like coffins exhumed and prised open, the photographs put on show what we were and what we will be again. 

Louis Aragon
[Artist, poet, and writer, b. 1897, Neuilly, France, d. 1982, Paris.]

 For each man there awaits... a particular image capable of annihilating the entire universe. 

Philip Jones Griffiths
[Photojournalist, b. 1936, Rhuddian, Wales, d. 2008, London.]

 I attempt to channel my anger into the tip of my forefinger as I press the shutter. 

Charles, Earl Spencer
[Secondary royalty, b. 1964, Althorp, Northamptonshire, England, lives in Althorp.]

 It would appear that every proprietor and editor of every publication that has paid for intrusive and exploitative photographs of her, encouraging greedy and ruthless individuals to risk everything in pursuit of Diana’s image, has blood on his hands today. (On the paparazzi role in the car crash death of his sister, Lady Diana) 

Norman Mailer
[Writer, b. 1923, Long Branch, New Jersey, d. 2007, New York.]

 Giving a camera to Diane Arbus is like putting a live grenade in the hands of a child. 

Ron Galella
[Photographer, b. 1931, Bronx, New York, lives in New York.]

 I got in my car and followed [Marlon Brando] down to Chinatown, and got about twelve shots. Brando called me over and said, “What else do you want that you don’t have already?” And I said, “I’d like a picture without the sunglasses.” He said no and punched me right in the jaw, It was so fast I didn’t see it coming. Blood was gushing out of my mouth. I drove to Bellevue. The jawbone and five teeth were broken... To this day he has scars on his knuckles from my teeth. 

Tom Wolfe
[Writer, b. 1931, Richmond, Virginia, lives in New York.]

 [Richard Avedon] began standing people up against white no-seam paper and lighting their faces so that every wen, hickey, zit, whitehead, blackhead, goober, acne-crater, beard follicle, nose hair, ear bristle, crow’s foot, wattle, mold, eye bag, and liver spot stood out like a tumor, and the poor grey souls looked like pustular ruins, sad, spent, demoralized. Ah, Lord, you never get out of this world alive! This was serious work. 

Pierre Klossowski
[Writer, artist, "but first, foremost, and always, a monomaniac", b. 1905, Paris, d. 2001, Paris.]

 The very idea of the nude is only a neutralization of a primitive and violent act. 
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