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1 " Time does not heal all wounds; if a man is not careful, time erases wounds. Then what is he left with? The cold and the silence. "
― Doug Rice , An Erotics of Seeing: The force of photography as philosophy's broken sentence
2 " True photographs tend to remain on the streets, the story almost about to enter the edge of the frame of the snapshot or the shutter closing a moment too late, the story having just abandoned the frame. "
3 " We are playing with desires that disappear. "
4 " Summer in Pittsburgh had a way of hating you, had a way of beating you down, getting into your bones and thoughts. Only the strongest survived the humidity of Pittsburgh summers, until winter came on and brought with it a test of a different sort, to see who was strong enough to make it to summer. All weather in Pittsburgh had an attitude, forced you to submit to it. Dared you to survive. "
― Doug Rice , Here Lies Memory: A Pittsburgh Novel
5 " Every photograph posed itself this one question: Are we allowed to view what is being exposed? "
― Doug Rice , Between Appear and Disappear
6 " Each sentence as it is written is written to lead us to a place of silence. The silence that follows each sentence should endure as long as it has taken you to read the sentence. This silence is different from white space. Silence should fill your body, not simply remain on the page. Your body needs to experience the space between. Silence needs to mark you. "
― Doug Rice , between appear and disappear
7 " In these days of living in a dry land that wants fire, we need to find words, or burn.'I dreamt of rain last night.'Mai stood near my skin, on the bank of the American River, her flesh wet with simplicity. The scent of star thistle mixed with river mud. ' I met people in my dreams who had never known the inside of a lotus flower. Ever.' In the center of each word another word unfolded. Our ankles cold from the river. Her hands trembled. Bewildered fingers.Be careful around those who claim to know the history of fire and yet remain unafraid of rain. "
8 " Truth is the thing you must not say.' She told me this. Known and unknown mourning for a volatile and impossible tongue. Between absence and presence. 'And is that love?''What does it matter? Love, a word. "
― Doug Rice
9 " Written words are always waiting. "
10 " The lead from her pencil covers her fingers, her knuckles. She rubs out as many words as she writes. Her words always on the verge of being erased. Words written on top of words. Words crossed out. Many of her words are missing. They have been lifted off the pages and rubbed onto her skin. The words that do remain carry her skin with them. "
