No more photos. Surely there are enough. No more shadows of myself thrown by light onto pieces of paper, onto squares of plastic. I suffer from my own multiplicity. Two or three images would have been enough, or four, or five. That would have allowed for a firm idea: This is she. As it is, I'm watery, I ripple, from moment to moment I dissolve into my other selves. Turn the page: you, looking, are newly confused. You know me too well to know me. Or not too well: too much.
- Margaret Atwood, "The Tent"