Finding the right subject is the hardest part.

Photograph the world as it is. Nothing's more interesting than reality.

I just think it's important to be direct and honest with people about why you're photographing them and what you're doing. After all, you are taking some of their soul.

I'm interested in reality, and I'm interested in survival. I'm interested in people who aren't the lucky ones, who maybe have a tougher time surviving, and telling their story.

It’s not when you press the shutter, but why you press the shutter.

Usually my ideas for work have revolved around my interest in people, especially people that live on the edges of society.

Reality is always extraordinary.

I’m just interested in people on the edges. I feel an affinity for people who haven’t had the best breaks in society. What I want to do more than anything is acknowledge their existence.

I was fascinated by my own prom pictures.

I respect newspapers but the reality is that magazine "photojournalism" is finished. They want illustrations, Photoshopped pictures of movie stars.

A great photograph needs no explanation; it functions by suggestion. There is no need to be explicit.

She ordered a martini and encouraged me to, but said she couldn't drink it with her medication. She just liked seeing it in front of her, like the old days, all set to do its little magic.

How could the eagle-eyed politicians of The Hague, who specialized in pointing out the tiniest specks in other people’s eyes, overlook someone riding a racist coach in their own neighborhood?

Jack Speight undid me, then I almost undid myself. But I've undone some of the bad, too, some of the damage. With help. With luck and love.

Voices and movements approach loss and remembrance profoundly, making poetry of the mundane and seasoning it with wit.

I think Americans are terrified of feeling anything. I never met a people more infantile in my life.

We have a society that wants somebody to come out of college with a degree that will make them a slave for whatever discipline they're in.

These people were not only cheering, they were throwing flowers and hats. The hats were made of stone, but the thought was there.

A man in all the world's new fashion planted, That hath a mint of phrases in his brain.

Ay me! for aught that ever I could read, could ever hear by tale or history, the course of true love never did run smooth.