Book: Show us a great biography or memoir.
I'm not sure if this book qualifies as biography or memoir. I'm also not sure what to say about it. I based my novel off of it. It was dark and steamy like some of the Japanese scenes in Babel. It left me with a sense of longing and separation anxiety. I'm glad that time of my life is passed, but when I think about it I wonder if I will always think about it, if it was the best time of my life. The time when I read this book.

Act I, Scene II - Viola is shipwrecked off the coast of Illyria and believes that her brother has been drowned.
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Enter Viola, a Captain, and sailors |
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What country, friends, is this? |
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This is Illyria, lady. |
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And what should I do in Illyria? |
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It is perchance that you yourself were saved. |
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O, my poor brother! and so perchance may he be. |
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I. ii. 1-8 |
Act III, Scene I - Olivia declares her love for Viola-Cesario

"Ann," self portrait, 1974, 2 inches by 1-1/2 inches
"Rushing to yoga class for a deep dose of serenity, which usually wears off on the drive home, is what many women do to center their hectic lives. Would you like to meet, in a way, a woman preternaturally centered, effortlessly grounded? You can at CCS' Center Galleries, in the exhibit Ann Mikolowski: Two Ways of Looking in a Mirror. A Detroit painter, wife, mother and working woman, Mikolowski's sense of comfort in her own skin permeates this gorgeous, calming installation..." from The Metro Times http://www.metrotimes.com/editorial/story.asp?id=10324

Uploaded on August 1, 2005
by Yshmael

English Garden
Uploaded on January 28, 2005
by Rin_Ney
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Uploaded on January 8, 2007
by astralprojection
Enjoy, ye little Ears with Feet!
Middle of middles, kernal of kernals
Almond, that encloses and sweetens
this Everything through all stars
is your fruit-flesh: you are greeted.
See, you feel, how nothing hangs on you anymore
in eternity is your soul
and there is the strong juice.
And from the outside comes a strand
because far above your suns
are becoming full and glowingly rotate.
Yes in you is already begun
what the suns watchover.
--Rilke, Paris, Summer 1908



