She lights a match in the dark hall and moves it onto the wick of the candle. Light lifts itself onto her shoulders. She is on her knees. She puts her hands on her thighs and breathes in the smell of the sulphur. She imagines she slap breathes in light.
Michael OndaatjePolitically I don't believe anymore that we can only have one voice to a story, it's like having one radio station to represent a country.
Michael OndaatjeI believe this. When we meet those we fall in love with, there is an aspect of our spirit that is historian, a bit of a pedant who reminisces or remembers a meeting when the other has passed by innocentlyโฆbut all parts of the body must be ready for the other, all atoms must jump in one direction for desire to occur.
Michael Ondaatje