If one of the arguments against eating meat is to do with cruelty and animal intelligence, then lab meat avoids that. There’s also the environmental argument for it.
The reader cannot see into your heart. He will know only what you tell him. Make the blind see your words. Make the hard-hearted feel. Make the deaf hear.
I was born in the Ottawa General Hospital right after the Gray Cup Football Game in 1939. Six months later, I was backpacked into the Quebec bush. I grew up in and out of the bush, in and out of Ottawa, Sault Ste. Marie and Toronto.
Don’t be married to a line or verse if it can’t rhyme, fit the meter, or doesn’t fit the outline.
Things musicals taught me: All your problems will go away if you sing about it.
It’s only afterwards that it becomes anything like a story at all. When you’re telling it, to yourself or to someone else.
If social stability goes pear-shaped, you have a choice between anarchy and dictatorship. Most people will opt for more security, even if they have to give up some personal freedom.
Walter turned on the radio: electric violins wailing, twisted romance, the four-square beat of heartbreak. Trite suffering, but suffering nonetheless. The entertainment business. What voyeurs we have all become.
I was once a graduate student in Victorian literature, and I believe as the Victorian novelists did, that a novel isn’t simply a vehicle for private expression, but that it also exists for social examination. I firmly believe this.
I’m not used to girls, or familiar with their customs. I feel awkward around them, I don’t know what to say. I know the unspoken rules of boys, but with girls I sense that I am always on the verge of some unforeseen, calamitous blunder.
Like the trains, she’s never on time and always departing.
There is never only one, of anyone.
Maybe sadness was a kind of hunger, she thought. Maybe the two went together.
After everything that’s happened, how can the world still be so beautiful? Because it is.
All stories are about wolves. All worth repeating, that is. Anything else is sentimental drivel.
It’s clear, it’s fresh, like a mint candy.
Toast is me. I am toast.
All I can hope for is a reconstruction: the way love feels is always only approximate.
There’s more than one way to skin a cat, my father used to say; it bothered me, I didn’t see why they would want to skin a cat even one way.
There is no fool like an educated fool...