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

 I will be remembered when I’m in heaven. People won’t remember my name, but they will know the photographer who did that picture of that nurse being kissed by the sailor at the end of World War II. Everybody remembers that. 

Duane Michals
[Photographer, b. 1932, McKeesport, Pennsylvania, lives in New York.]

 Get Weston off your back, forget Arbus, Frank, Adams, White, don’t look at photographs. Kill the Buddha. 

Jim Marshall
[Photographer, b. 1936, Chicago, Illinois, d. 2010, Los Angeles.]

 How the fuck should I 
know [what I’ve captured]? I was there. I took some photographs. This is them. I 
don’t know what it means. 

Frank Horvat
[Photographer, b. 1928, Abbazia, Italy, now Opatija, Croatia, lives in Paris.]

 By trying many different approaches, you may slowly reach the point where you say more about yourself than about the objects or the landscapes or the people you photograph—and this is where photography really interests me. 

Chuck Close
[Artist, b. 1940, Monroe, Washington, lives in New York.]

 From my point of view, photography never got any better than it was in 1840. 

Eddie Adams
[Photojournalist, b. 1933, New Kensington, Pennsylvania, d. 2004, New York.]

 To tell the truth, I didn’t get scared too often. The adrenalin rush was so strong, I didn’t get scared until it was over. The next night, the next month. Or just last week. 

August Sander
[Photographer, b. 1876, Herdorf, Germany, d. 1964, Cologne.]

 I never made a person look bad. They do that themselves. The portrait is your mirror. 

Jean Baudrillard
[Writer and theorist, b. 1929, Reims, France, d. 2007, Paris.]

 Every photographed object is merely the trace left behind by the disappearance of all the rest. It is an almost perfect crime, an almost total resolution of the world, which merely leave the illusion of a particular object shining forth, the image of which then becomes an impenetrable enigma.