I just yesterday returned from a trip where I photographed a woman with two children whom I photographed first when she was the age of the older of the two children.

You live in a deranged age, more deranged that usual, because in spite of great scientific and technological advances, man has not the faintest idea of who he is or what he is doing.

To write a story about New York that only deals with people in your age and socioeconomic bracket, that feels dishonest to me. So much of New York comes from everyone bumping into each other.

My mother inspired me to treat others as I would want to be treated regardless of age, race or financial status.

And from the first time I picked up a basketball at age eight - I had a lot of difficulty when I first picked up a basketball, because I was a scrub - there were things that I liked about it.

Right up until the time I retired at age 37, I felt like there were still things that I could do better.

In 1981, at age 31, I was voted the best player in basketball, and the most valuable player in the league.

The great thing about arriving at this age is that I don't even care about my career anymore.

Almost all of your life is lived by the seat of your pants, one unexpected event crashing into another, with no pattern or reason, and then you finally reach a point, around my age, where you spend more time than ever looking back. Why did this happen? Look where that led? You see the shape of things.

I've always been intrigued by color and by interesting hair. I was one of those weird little girls doing my own hair at the age of 9. I was, like, getting weird gels and new brushes and cornrow holders. I would tweak and perm at the age of 13.