People get devalued in Hollywood when they age, despite all their efforts to stay relevant and beautiful and young. They can't get jobs anymore.

I shoot fantasy. If you want reality, ride the bus

My pictures are about getting as far away from reality as possible. Dreams should be part of our everyday life.

If you want reality take the bus.

People say photographs don't lie, mine do.

I think we're in a post-pornographic time and nothing seems shocking, but everything remains carnal no matter what you do.

Prostitutes go to heaven. It's their clients that go to hell.

I wanted it to provide an escape route, I wanted to make pictures that were fantastic and took you into another world, one that was brighter. I started off with this idea.

I'm a photographer, period. I love photography, the immediacy of it. I like the craft, the idea of saying 'I'm a photographer.'

I didn’t see any difference between being a photographer or being an artist. I didn’t make those boundaries. If someone wants to think it’s art, that’s great, but I’ll let history decide.

I have no interest in being famous. I just want to make famous photographs.

For your heart to be filled with God’s love is to forgive easily

I say love, it is a flower, and you, its only seed.

I do not love strife, because I have always found that in the end each remains of the same opinion.

The deeper meaning and gift of yoga is the path it offers us into the timeless, spaceless world of spirit.

I think the mission for the writer is to tell stories in a compelling way about the stuff that cannot be talked about, that cannot be gotten at with shallow media.

The central problem of novel-writing is causality.

Don't let your fear grow bigger than your faith.

Anybody can wish for riches, and most people do, but only a few know that a definite plan, plus a burning desire for wealth, are the only dependable means of accumulating wealth

I am the expert on battery life.

Now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?