A SAINT is SOMEONE who has achieved a remote human possibility. It is impossible to say what that possibility is. I think it has something to do with the energy of love. Contact with this energy results in the exercise of a kind of balance in the chaos of existence.
THE SLEEK, BLACK limousine pulled up in front of the bike shop. A grey-haired man, looking fat and prosperous in a Savile Row suit, stepped out and walked into the store. He stood at the counter, pulled out $350 from a wad of orange bills. Along the wall, bicycle spokes glistened like diamonds.
WE CONCEDE that downtown Toronto will never look as ugly and as inhuman as artist John Richmond’s nightmare vision on the right. Nor, unfortunately, will it ever be the city of light and joy Richmond imagines over the page. The point is, which picture is closer to the reality of the way people in Toronto will be living in the year 2001? By that time, according to the best estimates available, Toronto will be the main urban centre for a region of eight million people.
REFORM MOVEMENTS usually come and go at city halls much like those troupes of ethnic dancers always being welcomed in the mayor’s office. The reformers begin with a polka of fast protest, then tend to slide into an elegant political gavotte to the right and finish by waltzing with the Establishment.
THE RECEPTIONIST in Playboy magazine’s Park Avenue New York office swiveled around with a throaty, “Can I help you?” Yes, I said. I’m here to interview David Steinberg. You know, David Steinberg, the comic. “Oh,” she said, “you must be the gentleman from McLeens.”
You GO TO ACAPULCO because there is something about Acapulco — the sound of the name rolls off the tongue like brandy and crystallizes images of airline stewardesses and tanned gangsters in wraparound sunglasses and discreet, very efficient waiters beside the swimming pool; and you sit on the terrace of the Mirador Hotel and watch the diving exhibitions from the cliffs of the Quebrada while they take your money away from you.
FIFTEEN, EVEN 10 years ago the Marlborough Avenue affair would have been a front-page headline in a downtown daily : ANGRY STREET DECLARES WAR ON CPR. Now it is left to the fortnightly Toronto Citizen, a plucky inner - city tabloid launched last year, to carry the dispatches from the Marlborough front.
IF YOU SUFFER FROM diabetes, varicose veins, short sight, or any one of several hundred other assorted ailments, it’s your fault for not choosing your parents more carefully. More accurately, it’s your parents’ fault for putting together your particular assortment of genes when they formed a reproductive team.
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