photograph

What do we feel when we look at a good photograph? We just want to be there, right at the exact moment that photo taken!

Have you ever noticed how as an adult, all the bright colors go out of your life? Now that I__ not a kid anymore, things always look gray, like a clothesline draped with laundry that__ been washed too many times and left to stand in the wind. I guess that__ what growing up is_ it__ a fading photograph.

A photograph is a most important document, and there is nothing more damning to go down to posterity than a silly, foolish smile caught and fixed forever.

Patience is the essence of clicking great Photographs!!

We don't need to be a pro photographer for making a photo or an experienced author for making quotes, everyone can make photos and quotes.

There is a stage you reach, Deagle thinks, a time somewhere in early middle age, when your past ceases to be about yourself. Your connection to your former life is like a dream or delirium, and that person who you once were is merely a fond acquaintance, or a beloved character from a storybook. This is how memory becomes nostalgia. They are two very different things - the same way that a person is different from a photograph of a person.

Judging by the photograph it seemed like I hadn__ been there at all. As if it was my camera that had been on holiday, and not me.

A photograph is a kind of time machine.

Yeah, you__e right about having entire rooms full of film and photos_ in that Sydney Mines house I have a darkroom, I have boxes of film and home movie footage_ I have a few projectors, I have piles of Kodachrome slides_ I like photographs. The world is always running away from society and the only way to keep the stuff that__ happened in the past is by taking photographs, I can keep memories of things alive with photographs,_ Alecto responded. __eople say that a time machine can__ be invented, but they__e already invented a device that can stop time, cameras are the world__ first time machines_ The steel mill, the coal mines, the train tracks, the smog in the sky, I__e been able to rescue it on super-8 and Kodachrome, and no one can remediate those photographs, I can keep them as long as I want to.

We weren__ happy together but we lived in a state of easy, mild contentment. We shared everything except the stupid fucking secret hanging round your neck. I imagined tiny photographs: portraits in sepia of your parents, their faces partially obscured by goitres. Meanwhile, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next year, maybe not even in a decade from now but one day: the planet would fall apart.