“He owned an expensive camera that required thought before you pressed the shutter, and I quickly became his favorite subject, round-faced, missing teeth, my thick bangs in need of a trim. They are still the pictures of myself I like best, for they convey that confidence of youth I no longer possess, especially in front of a camera.”

“I thought about the cameras following me in the terminal and pictured my family watching my entrance on TV. I hoped they’d be proud.”

“There is something strikingly different about the quality of photographs of that time. It has nothing to do with age or colour, or the feel of paper. . . . In modern family photographs the camera pretends to circulate like a friend, clicking its shutters at those moments when its subjects have disarranged themselves to present to it those postures which they would like to think of as informal. But in pictures of that time, the camera is still a public and alien eye, faced with which people feel bound either to challenge the intrusion by striking postures of defiant hilarity, or else to compose their faces, and straighten their shoulders, not always formally, but usually with just that hint of stiffness which suggests a public face.”

“With gift giving, if it’s the thought that counts, then a picture of a Mercedes is just as good as an actual Mercedes. With my new camera, I can’t wait to show you how much I love you!”

“And somehow I had always resisted driving very slowly back and forth in front of his house. Willpower? No. I figured his front gate was equipped with security cameras and I would just be embarrassing myself. And this street was definitely not on the bus line.”

“So he starts getting up and brings me along by my lips. Alright. Now we're being videotaped. His backs to the camera. "Trust me?" He asks."Uh...sure?" Huh?He starts to lift up my shirt when he kisses me again. I bite his lip and glare at him. "What? I need your shirt for the camera.""Use your own goddamn shirt!”