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There is a month, a year, there is a time
In which majesty is a mirror of the self:
I have not but I am and as I am, I am.

 

Wallace Stevens

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As long as skies are blue, and fields are green,
Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow,
Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow.

 

Percy Bysshe Shelley

 

Great photography comes about at the right time but it also needs the right cut that enhances that precise moment…Photography must feed on both contents and form, if it gives up the one for the other it is not going to last…I possess multiple souls, that come out month in month out, year in year out. I am a photographer, a performer, a lawyer, a collector, a musician. I am all that, I do not throw anything away, I just allow my diverse souls to take turns…If you take pictures for the sake of other people, your true essence will never come out, you will end up with doing things others already did, just because you know that people like them….My photographs convey my ideas, passions, monsters, who I am and what is on my mind.

 

Augusto De Luca

 

I was writing for businesses. I think my mother was a little skeptical in the beginning, but fortunately, as a free-lance writer I was successful almost immediately. And so she was very proud, because she measured success in terms of money, which is what I started to do as well. My goal then, became to increase the amount of money that I made each month. Not simply each year, but each month — I mean, talk about pressure — to have more billable hours each month. So that by the end of my third year of being a free-lance writer, I was billing 90 hours a week. I had no time to sleep. I had no life. People said I was crazy, that I was a workaholic. And I couldn't understand how it was that I had these wonderful clients, and I was making all this money, and I wasn't happy and I didn't feel successful. That's when I started to write fiction.

 

Amy Tan

 

Rachel was looking into the mirror at an angle of 45°, and so had a view of the face turned toward the room and the face on the other side, reflected in the mirror; here were time and reverse-time, co-existing, cancelling one another exactly out. Were there many such reference points, scattered throughout the world, perhaps only at nodes like this room which housed a transient population of the imperfect, the dissatisfied; did real time plus virtual or mirror-time equal zero and thus serve some half-understood moral purpose? Or was it only the mirror world that counted; only a promise of a kind that the inward bow of a nose-bridge or a promontory of extra cartilage at the chin meant a reversal of ill fortune such that the world of the altered would thenceforth run on mirror-time; work and love by mirror-light and be only, till death stopped the heart's ticking (metronome's music) quietly as light ceases to vibrate, an imp's dance under the century's own chandeliers....

 

Thomas Pynchon

 

He wanted to make a mirror. Glass, mercury and a wooden frame- the perfect mirror. But he was no good at it. So he went to the people he knew and asked them for a mirror. All they could give him were bits of old mirror. He took these home, stuck them on a board and hung it up. It's a mirror.

 

Michael Rosen