The next real literary rebels in this country might well emerge as some weird bunch of anti-rebels, born oglers who dare somehow to back away from ironic watching, who have the childish gall actually to endorse and instantiate single-entendre values.
— David Foster Wallace, 1993
There are approximately 6.8 million people living in Hong Kong — a city the size of Luxembourg — and at night, every window is a lit rectangle. From a distance they are indistinguishable from one another.
Michael Wolf, Architecture of Density.
Since 1975, Nicholas Nixon has photographed his wife Bebe and her three sisters — in the same order — every year. The project is still ongoing. Fifty years of four women, aging in plain sight.
1960. Women as living paintbrushes. A tuxedoed orchestra plays. The audience watches in silence.
Sparrows feeding their young. To pass a place where babies are playing. To sleep in a room where some fine incense has been burnt. To notice that one's elegant Chinese mirror has become a little cloudy. To see a gentleman stop his carriage before one's gate and instruct his attendants to announce his arrival.
— Sei Shōnagon, The Pillow Book (c. 1002)