Hans Magnus Enzensberger
[Writer and poet, b. 1929, Kaufbeuren, Germany, lives in Munich.]

 The reality in which a camera turns up is always “posed,” e.g., the moon landing. 

Wendy Ewald
[Photographer and educator, b. 1951, Detroit, Michigan, lives in Rhinebeck, New York.]

 Gradually I saw that it was less interesting for me, as an artist, to frame the world wholly according to my own perceptions. I wanted instead to create situations in which I allowed others’ perceptions to surface with my own. 

Walker Evans
[Photographer, b. 1903, St. Louis, Missouri, d. 1975, New Haven, Connecticut.]

 With the camera, it’s all or nothing. You either get what you’re after at once, or what you do has to be worthless. 

Alfred Eisenstaedt
[Photographer, b. 1898, Dirschau, West Prussia (now Tczew, Poland), d. 1995, New York.]

 Once the amateur’s naive approach and humble willingness to learn fades away, the creative spirit of good photography dies with it. Every professional should remain always in his heart an amateur. 

Umberto Eco
[Writer, semiotician, and philosopher, b. 1932, Alessandria, Piedmont, Italy, d. 2016, Milan.]

 The photograph [of Che Guevara], for a civilization now accustomed to thinking in images, was not the description of a single event... it was an argument. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson
[Writer and thinker, b. 1803, Boston, Massachusetts, d. 1882, Concord, Massachusetts.]

 No man quarrels with his shadow, nor will he when the sun was the painter. Here is no interference, and the distortions are not the blunders of an artist. 

Harold Edgerton
[Scientist, inventor, and photographer, b. 1903, Fremont, Nebraska, d. 1990, Cambridge, Massachusetts.]

 If you don’t wake up at three in the morning and want to do something, you’re wasting your time. 

Lady Elizabeth Eastlake (Elizabeth Rigby)
[Writer and photographer, b. 1809, London, d. 1893, London.]

 Every individual who launches his happiness on this stream [of photography] finds currents and rocks not laid down in the chart. Every sanguine little couple who set up a glass-house at the commencement of summer, call their friends about them, and toil alternately in broiling light and stifling gloom, have said before long, in their hearts, “Photography, thy name is disappointment!” (1857)