...If I ever got sloppy and maudlin, it would be for the streets of my childhood—but no self- respecting writer should ever eulogize a slum...

...when I was a kid, Toronto streets were deserted and quiet on Sundays, except for the sound of church bells I stood on the sidewalk one December listening to the Christmas bells - I've never forgotten that moment...

...some nights I'd sneak out and listen to the radio in my Dad's old Chevy - children need solitude - they don't teach that in school...

...you want things to remain the same, which they never can, and so you’re wounded by your own feelings & resentful others don’t seem to care...

...the making of stories is only one part of my craft -mainly, I'm a heart whisperer...

...everything is gone except traces of you inside me - and the years like the wind are sweeping those away ...