Marcel Proust
[Writer, b. 1871, Auteuil, Paris, d. 1922, Paris.]
The process that mechanically occurred in my eyes when I caught sight of my grandmother was indeed a photograph. We never see the people who are dear to us save in the animated system, the perpetual motion of our incessant love for them, which before allowing the images that their faces present to reach us catches them in its vortex, flings them back upon the idea that we have always had of them, makes them adhere to it, coincide with it. 
Roland Barthes
[Writer, critic, and theorist, b. 1915, Cherbourg, d. 1980, Paris.]
There I was, alone in the apartment where she had died, looking at these pictures of my mother, one by one, under the lamp, gradually moving back in time with her, looking for the truth of the face I had loved. And I found it. Diane Arbus
[Photographer, b. 1923, New York, d. 1971, New York.]
Lately I’ve been struck with how I really love what you can’t see in a photograph. An actual physical darkness. And it’s very thrilling for me to see darkness again. Tom Waits
[Musician, b. 1949, Pomona, California, lives in Sonoma County, California.]
Sun come up it was blue and goldEver since I put your picture
In a frame.