All photographs are accurate. None of them is the truth.

--- Richard Avedon (attributed passim, couldn't confirm source), via Gagosian on Instagram

The more I think about it, the more fatuous (or do I mean specious?) this quote seems. 

No photograph is "the truth," but then, nothing is (to a modern, or certainly a postmodernist).

So what if he'd said, "All photographs are accurate. None of them is true"? That seems a bit more accurate to me. But then consider the first part: "All photographs are accurate." 

If accurate means correct in all details (cf. Lexico), then this is false since many photos - especially in fashion magazines! - are doctored in some way, from soft focus to color correction to airbrushing Trotsky out of a the photo of Lenin's speech in Sverdlov Square.

Now, to the extent that Trotsky was no longer an important figure in Soviet history after the rise of Stalin, editing him out of the photo was true in its context. Which takes us around 180 degrees to, "No photographs are accurate. All of  them are the truth."

what was true ... was not original, and most of what was original was known not to be true

--- Max Perutz on Erwin Schrodinger's What's Life, via Phil Ball in the Nature podcast of 5 Sep 2018, interview about his article in Nature Books and Arts, Schrödinger’s cat among biology’s pigeons: 75 years of What Is Life?

Ball's article cites a 1987 paper by Perutz, Physics and the riddle of life, where he grumbled that "what was true in his book was not original, and most of what was original was known not to be true even when the book was written”.

"There are societies where, once the book is closed, the reader goes on believing; there are others where he does not."

--- Paul Veyne, tr. Paula Wissing, Did the Greeks Believe in Their Myths? (1983, 1988), p. 22, Ch. 2, "The Plurality and Analogy of True Worlds"

According a certain program of truth, that of deductive and quantified physics, Einstein is true in our eyes. But if we believe in the Iliad, it is no less true according to its own mythical program. The same can be said for Alice in Wonderland. For, even if we consider Alice and the plays of Racine as fiction, while we are reading them we believe; we weep at the theater. The world of Alice and its fairytale program is offered to us as a realm as plausible and true as our own—as real in relation to itself, so to speak. We have shifted the sphere of truth, but we are still within the true or its analogy. This is why realism in literature is at once a fake (it is not reality), a useless exertion (the fairy world would seem no less real), and the most extreme sophistication (to fabricate the real with our real: how baroque!). Far from being opposed to the truth, fiction is only its by-product. All we need to do is open the Iliad and we enter into the story, as they say, and
lose our bearings. The only subtlety is that later on we do not believe. There are societies where, once the book is closed, the reader goes on believing; there are others where he does not.