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Tonight, after supper, I go out for a lazy walk to find a photo. While I'm standing there pointing my camera, it isn't the western sky with its delicate crescent moon getting my attention. It's the symphony of crickets in, appropriately, the Toronto Music Garden to my right.
August, I love you. Don't rush off, okay?
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Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race. ~ James Joyce
"Melancholy diminishes as I write. Why then don't I write it down oftener?" ~Virginia Woolf
"To write about someone like myself would be very limiting." ~Michael Ondaatje
