On Paper I Would Be A Rather

The Surface Of The Earth Itself Is An Immense Loom Upon Which The Sun Weaves The Fabric Of Existence.

Mining In Bc's Sacred Headwaters Is Like Drilling For Oil In The Sistine Chapel

What Could Be More Lonely Than To Be Enveloped In Silence, To Be The Last Of Your People To Speak Your Native Tongue, To Have No Way To Pass On The Wisdom Of The Elders, To Anticipate The Promise Of The Children. This Tragic Fate Is Indeed The Plight Of Someone Somewhere Roughly Every Two Weeks.

In The West We Cling To The Past Like Limpets. In Haiti The Present Is The Axis Of All Life. As In Africa, Past And Future Are But Distant Measures Of The Present, And Memories Are As Meaningless As Promises.

A Language Is Not Just A Body Of Vocabulary Or A Set Of Grammatical Rules. ... Every Language Is An Old-growth Forest Of The Mind.