Shutter Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
sometimes-i-do-get-to-places-just-when-gods-ready-to-have-somebody-click-the-shutter
when-that-shutter-clicks-anything-else-that-can-be-done-afterward-is-not-worth-consideration
change-isnt-like-shutter-click-its-never-instant-lamar-giles
in-my-photographs-it-is-apparent-that-there-was-no-posing-at-moment-i-released-shutter-jerzy-kosinski
i-am-camera-with-its-shutter-open-quite-passive-recording-not-thinking
sometimes-i-arrive-just-when-gods-ready-to-have-somone-click-shutter-ansel-adams
my-theory-composition-simple-do-not-release-shutter-until-everything-in-viewfinder-feels-just-right-ernst-haas
i-am-camera-with-its-shutter-open-someday-all-this-will-be-developed-printed-fixed-christopher-isherwood
photographs-arent-accounts-scrutiny-the-shutter-is-open-for-fraction-second-david-hockney
look-and-think-before-opening-the-shutter-the-heart-and-mind-are-the-true-lens-of-the-camera
hearing-a-camera-shutter-noise-in-a-public-bathroom-can-never-be-for-anything-normal
look-think-before-opening-shutter-the-heart-mind-are-true-lens-camera-yousuf-karsh
theres-discipline-when-you-take-someones-portrait-you-dont-have-to-take-50-photographs-just-find-that-one-that-when-you-release-shutter-thats-image-that-you-took
the-arresting-time-is-photographys-unique-capacity-decision-when-to-click-shutter-is-photographers-chief-responsibility-janet-malcolm
what-is-truth-in-photography-it-can-be-told-in-hundred-different-ways-every-thirtieth-second-when-shutter-snaps-its-capturing-different-piece-sally-mann
be-pleased-with-your-real-garden-dont-persue-perfection-picture-what-you-see-in-photo-lasted-only-as-long-as-shutter-snap-janet-macunovich
i-would-say-that-offframe-effect-in-photography-results-from-singular-definitive-cuttingoff-which-figures-castration-is-figured-by-click-christian-metz
a-slight-sound-at-evening-lifts-me-up-by-ears-makes-life-seem-inexpressibly-serene-grand-it-may-be-uranus-it-may-be-in-shutter-henry-david-thoreau
when-hopes-dreams-are-loose-in-streets-it-is-well-for-timid-to-lock-doors-shutter-windows-lie-low-until-wrath-has-passed-eric-hoffer
the-tv-camera-has-no-shutter-it-does-not-deal-with-aspects-facets-objects-in-high-resolution-it-is-means-direct-pickup-by-electrical-groping-over-marshall-mcluhan
what-good-would-it-do-to-shutter-your-windows-never-dream-rainbows-find-hope-in-promises-why-choose-to-walk-away-rather-than-hold-your-ground-fight-for-love-ellen-hopkins
what-good-would-it-do-to-shutter-your-windows-never-dream-rainbows-find-hope-in-promises-why-choose-to-walk-away-rather-than-hold-your-ground-fight-ellen-hopkins
thane-ealdian-prowls-earth-once-more-shutter-your-houses-bar-your-doors-offer-him-gold-women-to-satisfy-his-cravings-a-black-dragon-is-like-devil-himself-erin-kellison
eternity-shall-be-at-once-great-eyeopener-great-mouthshutter-jim-elliot-elisabeth-elliot
when-you-press-shutter-time-wont-see-which-camera-it-will-still-get-freezed-in-moment-thats-best-farewell-for-that-moment-sagar-gosavi
in-early-days-picture-taking-exposure-shutter-had-to-stay-open-for-long-time-you-had-to-stay-really-still
eternity-shall-be-at-once-great-eyeopener-great-mouthshutter-jim-elliot
if-you-found-yourself-in-situation-where-you-could-either-save-drowning-man-you-could-take-pulitzer-prize-winning-photograph-him-drowning-what-paul-harvey
the-most-important-thing-is-not-clicking-shutter-it-is-clicking-with-subject-alfred-eisenstaedt
poverty-is-great-cutteroff-riches-great-shutteroff-lawrence-durrell
it-is-more-important-to-click-with-people-than-to-click-shutter
the-shutter-photographers-camera-makes-that-repeated-mechanical-sound-that-unlocking-locking-doors-light-to-send-momentary-images-present-into-light-trap-past-simon-mawer
movies-used-to-be-called-flicks-because-they-flickered-badly-because-16-18-frames-second-which-was-those-hand-cranked-movies-on-single-bladed-shutter-was-really-badly-flickering
What agony he suffered as he watched that light, in whose golden atmosphere were moving, behind the closed sash, the unseen and detested pair, as he listened to that murmur which revealed the presence of the man who had crept in after his own departure, the perfidy of Odette, and the pleasures which she was at that moment tasting with the stranger. And yet he was not sorry that he had come; the torment which had forced him to leave his own house had lost its sharpness when it lost its uncertainty, now that Odette's other life, of which he had had, at that first moment, a sudden helpless suspicion, was definitely there, almost within his grasp, before his eyes, in the full glare of the lamp-light, caught and kept there, an unwitting prisoner, in that room into which, when he would, he might force his way to surprise and seize it; or rather he would tap upon the shutters, as he had often done when he had come there very late, and by that signal Odette would at least learn that he knew, that he had seen the light and had heard the voices; while he himself, who a moment ago had been picturing her as laughing at him, as sharing with that other the knowledge of how effectively he had been tricked, now it was he that saw them, confident and persistent in their error, tricked and trapped by none other than himself, whom they believed to be a mile away, but who was there, in person, there with a plan, there with the knowledge that he was going, in another minute, to tap upon the shutter. And, perhaps, what he felt (almost an agreeable feeling) at that moment was something more than relief at the solution of a doubt, at the soothing of a pain; was an intellectual pleasure.

Marcel Proust
what-agony-he-suffered-as-he-watched-that-light-in-whose-golden-atmosphere-were-moving-behind-closed-sash-unseen-detested-pair-as-he-listened-to-that-murmur-which-revealed-presen
A kind of northing is what I wish to accomplish, a single-minded trek towards that place where any shutter left open to the zenith at night will record the wheeling of all the sky's stars as a pattern of perfect, concentric circles. I seek a reduction, a shedding, a sloughing off. At the seashore you often see a shell, or fragment of a shell, that sharp sands and surf have thinned to a wisp. There is no way you can tell what kind of shell it had been, what creature it had housed; it could have been a whelk or a scallop, a cowrie, limpet, or conch. The animal is long since dissolved, and its blood spread and thinned in the general sea. All you hold in your hand is a cool shred of shell, an inch long, pared so thin that it passes a faint pink light. It is an essence, a smooth condensation of the air, a curve. I long for the North where unimpeded winds would hone me to such a pure slip of bone. But I'll not go northing this year. I'll stalk that floating pole and frigid air by waiting here. I wait on bridges; I wait, struck, on forest paths and meadow's fringes, hilltops and banksides, day in and day out, and I receive a southing as a gift. The North washes down the mountains like a waterfall, like a tidal wave, and pours across the valley; it comes to me. It sweetens the persimmons and numbs the last of the crickets and hornets; it fans the flames of the forest maples, bows the meadow's seeded grasses and pokes it chilling fingers under the leaf litter, thrusting the springtails and the earthworms deeper into the earth. The sun heaves to the south by day, and at night wild Orion emerges looming like the Specter over Dead Man Mountain. Something is already here, and more is coming.

Annie Dillard
a-kind-northing-is-what-i-wish-to-accomplish-singleminded-trek-towards-that-place-where-any-shutter-left-open-to-zenith-at-night-will-record-wheeling-all-skys-stars-as-pattern-pe
I'll find out who's inside. Wait here and keep alert!' Hallam rasped. He skirted the main path to skulk towards one of the shuttered windows on the building's eastern wall. There was a crack in the wood and he gently inched closer to peer inside. There was a hearth-fire with a pot bubbling away and a battered table made of a length of wood over two pieces of cut timber. A small ham hung from the rafters, away from the rats and mice. He couldn't see anyone but there was a murmur of voices. Hallam leaned in even closer and a young boy with hair the colour of straw saw the movement to stare. It was Little Jim. Thank God, the child was safe. Snot hung from his nose and he was pale. Hallam put a finger to his lips, but the boy, not even four, did not understand, and just gaped innocently back. Movement near the window. A man wearing a blue jacket took up a stone bottle and wiped his long flowing moustache afterwards. His hair was shoulder-length, falling unruly over the red collar of his jacket. Tied around his neck was a filthy red neckerchief. A woman moaned and the man grinned with tobacco stained teeth at the sound. Laughter and French voices. The woman whimpered and Little Jim turned to watch unseen figures. His eyes glistened and his bottom lip dropped. The woman began to plead and Hallam instinctively growled. The Frenchman, hearing the noise, pushed the shutter open and the pistol's cold muzzle pressed against his forehead. Hallam watched the man's eyes narrow and then widen, before his mouth opened. Whatever he intended to shout was never heard, because the ball smashed through his skull to erupt in a bloody spray as it exited the back of the Frenchman's head. There was a brief moment of silence. '28th!' Hallam shouted, as he stepped back against the wall. 'Make ready!

David Cook
ill-find-out-whos-inside-wait-here-keep-alert-hallam-rasped-he-skirted-main-path-to-skulk-towards-one-shuttered-windows-on-buildings-eastern-wall-there-was-crack-in-wood-he-gentl
Seeing is of course very much a matter of verbalization. Unless I call my attention to what passes before my eyes, I simply won't see it. It is, as Ruskin says, 'not merely unnoticed, but in the full clear sense of the word, unseen.' If Tinker Mountain erupted, I'd be likely to notice. But if I want to notice the lesser cataclysms of valley life, I have to maintain in my head a running description of the present... when I see this way I analyze and pry. I hurl over logs and roll away stones; I study the bank a square foot at a time, probing and tilting my head. Some days when the mist covers the mountains, when the muskrats won't show and the microscope's mirror shatters, I want to climb up the blank blue dome as a man would storm the inside of a circus tent, wildly, dangling, and with a steel knife, claw a rent in the top, peep, and if I must, fall. But there is another kind of seeing that involves a letting go. When I see this way I sway transfixed and emptied. The difference between the two ways of seeing is the difference between walking with and without a camera. When I walk without a camera, my own shutter opens, and the moment's light prints on my own silver gut. It was sunny one evening last summer at Tinker Creek; the sun was low in the sky, upstream. I was sitting on the sycamore log bridge with the sunset at my back, watching the shiners the size of minnows who were feeding over the muddy bottom... again and again, one fish, then another, turned for a split second and flash! the sun shot out from its silver side. I couldn't watch for it. It was always just happening somewhere else... so I blurred my eyes and gazed towards the brim of my hat and saw a new world. I saw the pale white circles roll up, roll up like the world's turning, mute and perfect, and I saw the linear flashes, gleaming silver, like stars being born at random down a rolling scroll of time. Something broke and something opened. I filled up like a new wineskin. I breathed an air like light; I saw a light like water. I was the lip of a fountain the creek filled forever; I was ether, the leaf in the zephyr; I was flesh-flake, feather, bone. When I see this way, I see truly.

Annie Dillard
seeing-is-course-much-matter-verbalization-unless-i-call-my-attention-to-what-passes-before-my-eyes-i-simply-wont-see-it-it-is-as-ruskin-says-not-merely-unnoticed-but-in-full-cle
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