It's true though: time moves in its own special way in the middle of the night," the bartender says, loudly striking a book match and lighting a cigarette. "You can't fight it.
Early in my career I discovered that there was something really special about photographing at night that places your mind on the surface of the planet. You’re no longer just a human being walking around in the regular world. You’re a human animal striding around on the surface of the planet that’s out in the middle of the galaxy. We as a culture, we’re forgetting that we are actually natural organisms and that we have this very deep connection and contact with nature. You can’t divorce civilization from nature. We totally depend on it.
I now resolved to go to bed early, with a firm purpose of also rising early the next day to revisit this charming walk; for I thought to myself, I have now seen this temple of the modern world imperfectly; I have seen it only by moonlight.
Mental activity in the daytime creates a latent form of habitual thought which again transforms itself at night into various delusory visions sensed by the semi-consciousness. This is called the deceptive and magic-like Bardo of Dream.
One thing about London is that when you step out into the night, it swallows you.
The world just feels different for those of us who come alive after dark. It's more fragile and unreal, a replica of the one everyone else inhabits.
The day seems long, but night is odious; no sleep, but dreams; no dreams but visions strange.
I am a big fan of the night shoots, as tough as they are, because they have almost a camping trip feel.
Tonight, tonight, won't be just any night. Tonight there will be no morning star.
